Cold, But Not Dead
by Counterfeit God
Summary: What if Vincent Valentine was never a Turk, but a SOLDIER? And what if it was not Lucrecia who saved Vincent from the mess Hojo made him, but Sephiroth? AU. Sephiroth/Vincent Valentine. Eventual SLASH/YAOI. Set during CC.
1. All Evil Deeds Do Not Go Unpunished

A/N: I am officially insane. I started this several weeks ago without much intent of posting. But as you can see...heh. I had a horrible day and ended up adding quite a bit to it.

This story is AU. Vincent will turn out relatively the same (I say 'relatively' because I don't want to give anything away) as he did as a Turk, but will just take a different path about getting there. And yes, I know that Vincent is probably about 30 years older than Sephiroth, but for the sake of this story he's going to be younger than him. The whole Lucrecia thing where Vincent loved her, doesn't exist. Everything between Lucrecia and Hojo happened, just minus Vincent (Vincent will still get experimented on, however). I'll figure out most of it if I keep up with writing this story. There will also be differences with Hojo's employment, which I will explain in later chapters. The characters however, are not OOC (minus the slash...). I'm doing my best to make sure they remain as we know and love them, they are just in different situations. And I will make sure that when the slash does enter the picture it doesn't make Sephiroth or Vincent into something fluffy and...dumb.

If anyone is still reading, hallelujah. On with the story.

* * *

Sephiroth stood in front of the clear, bulletproof glass of the floor-to-ceiling window, vaguely taking in the voices of the men arguing animatedly behind him.

The was heat rising and distorting the far away buildings from Sephiroth's view, as it rose from the blacktop. Sephiroth was watching a group of Thirds doing drills out on the hot pavement below, their uniforms likely making them sweat from both the exertion and the heat.

He could just make out the figure of Zack Fair, almost...skipping...alongside the large, stoic figure of Angeal.

"General," one of the suits drawled, apparently aware that the silver-haired man's attention was directed elsewhere.

"You'll send firsts," Sephiroth replied curtly from his spot, his green eyes skimming over the rows of SOLDIERs, who were now marching in organized lines.

This statement was taken well by Lazard, who smiled slightly from his high-backed leather chair. President Shinra, however, did not appear pleased.

"These are simple reconnaissance missions, nothing more. We don't need to deploy firsts for something that simple," the man stated, his eyes on the form of Sephiroth.

Sephiroth turned from his place at the window, toward the head of the long meeting table, where the President was seated. He spoke in his deep, calm voice, directing his words at the President. "The Wutian guerillas have intercepted our efforts more than once, it would not be improbable for such a thing to occur again."

"Some of their members are highly skilled," Lazard added. "Why risk it?"

The argument had been going on for weeks. Half of the board approved of sending younger, less skilled SOLDIERs into zones that were known for occasional hostility. It was a bravado that Sephiroth knew had been built up from his own accomplishments as well as those of other Firsts. Though he was the General, President Shinra overruled him in power, and could decide whatever he wished, even if it was a choice that opposed Sephiroth's.

Though the two often reached agreement (Sephiroth was a favorite of the President), there were times that Sephiroth felt the man had become too comfortable with his overwhelming power. He forgot that though the SOLDIERs were the best the world had ever seen, they were not inhuman. They could die.

Though the war with Wutai was long finished, uprisings were commonplace. In recent attacks members of SOLDIER had been brutally killed. Though those instances were few, Sephiroth, as well as Lazard and others (Angeal being one of them, though he had not been included in this particular meeting), did not approve of sending Seconds and Thirds into such areas, regardless of the low risk for attacks. Sephiroth had a feeling that there was more to the attacks that anyone was willing to acknowledge.

"There are many more important missions for the Firsts to be taking, you yourself must acknowledge this," President Shinra retorted, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"Yes," Sephiroth answered. "But I will not see inexperienced SOLDIERs dying simply because there isn't an adequate amount of Firsts available to complete the missions."

The missions were nonstop. Sephiroth himself had barely been at the base in the past months, as he was sent off constantly. Though there were as many Firsts as ever, Shinra was expanding its influence, and that influence required more and more SOLDIERs, through territory that was far from 'friendly'.

The past had already shown to the General what could happen when inexperience met honed skill. He kept Shina's darker secrets, but he did not forget them. This was why he would not sway from his decision.

"Send the Seconds and Thirds to already well-established, controlled areas. It will be more beneficial than forcing them into a situation that may be beyond their skill," Sephiroth asserted.

President Shinra's brow furrowed, both in thought and irritation. The General remained impassive, his strange green eyes focused on the President, his arms loosely at his sides. He showed no open hostility nor anger, though from the intensity of his stare it was easy for anyone who knew him even slightly, to discern that he would not change his opinion.

There was a short silence before someone spoke.

"A vote then?" one of the suits suggested, his eyes going from the President, then warily drifting over to the silver-haired General, who the man admittedly was somewhat frightened of.

President Shinra nodded. "That would seem the only solution; we know both sides to the issue." His gaze was steely as he returned the General's attention.

Sephiroth still showed no outward reaction, but simply shook his head of silver hair, already knowing of the outcome of the vote. He was by far, outnumbered (many of those who sided with him were not present, which was likely done purposefully), and in such political situations, no amount of skill would change the tide. Opinions were set. So was the way of those in power.

The President rose from his chair, placing both hands on the glossed wood of the table to steady himself. "All in favor?"

After a moment, several members raised their hands, including Rufus Shinra who had remained quiet through most of the debate.

"All opposed?"

A few hands were raised, far fewer than the previous vote. The General did not raise his hand, nor did he need to, as he instead walked quietly away from the window, his gloved right hand clenched at his side, lost in the black leather of his trademark coat where it could not be seen. His eyes caught the President's again, in silent warning. The President seemed to acknowledge this, for he inclined his head slightly before he spoke.

"So it is done," President Shinra said, sitting back down. He accepted that the General Sephiroth was opposed to what he was doing, but in the instance, he felt he was the one who was right. They were SOLDIERs after all, and the chance of one of their platoons being attacked by a group of rebels was highly unlikely. He felt the General was being far too cautious.

Sephiroth's blank expression did not change, even when Rufus gave him a rather smug look from across the room. Lazard was notably irritated, likely because he had just been outvoted by his father and half brother.

"I'll see to it they are deployed when needed," Lazard said monotonously, watching the General, who was already moving toward the door.

* * *

Vincent Valentine was a new recruit. He'd come to Midgar only three months prior, after having served for 6 months in the standard military. Being accepted into the SOLDIER program had not been what the youth had expected, in fact, it was surreal at times.

He was young, barely fifteen. Quiet and aloof, he had first appeared to be an easy target for his peers. They learned quickly that as sweet as his name might be, Vincent Valentine was brooding and intelligent. He was not to be beat in the academic arena, and as far as training went, he was the most quick and agile of his comrades. What he lacked in physical presence and strength, he overshadowed with his shooting accuracy and quickness of foot. He could outrun some of the older, more experienced SOLDIERs, though he was only a Third.

It was in hand-to-hand combat that Vincent was both blessed and plagued by his abilities. The SOLDIER program valued strength before most other attributes, thus many SOLDIERs were brutish, less graceful than Vincent. Even so, Vincent did not have that same horse-like power that came to the others naturally. He used his speed to outmaneuver them, but this tactic could not be implemented in many situations, as close quarters made evading much more difficult; he could not use space to his advantage. He knew that only with extra training would he really be able to hold his own with them in close quarters.

His penchant for long range and close range combat with guns, was considered highly unusual in the SOLDIER program, where most donned swords. His sword skills were also only mediocre, and given the focus of the SOLDIER program, he wasn't often given ample opportunity to be noticed for his skill with guns.

Perhaps it was his differences that made him doubtful of himself at times, as he did not easily fit in with the other members of his squad. 'Friends' were not something he was too familiar with.

As a loner, Vincent had received his fair share of bullying. It had tapered off after the first few months, becoming mostly harmless. But there were still times that he found himself in an awkward situation.

"Valentine, come here please," the Drill Sargent said offhandedly, crossing his massive, veined arms behind his back. He was grinning in a way that meant trouble for certain.

"Sir?" Vincent asked, falling from his place to stand before the man, after he saluted hurriedly.

"Do you feel it necessary to show off your...ballet skills while doing drills?"

Several of the SOLDIERs behind Vincent snickered loudly while doing their jumping jacks, apparently all listening in on the conversation for any snippets they could use against one of their less-favored peers.

Vincent frowned, his maroon eyes hardened slightly, in a way that would someday become characteristic to him. His voice was quiet, almost shy, but it came out calmly. "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean, sir."

"Oh, but I think you do." Stanley Johns walked a few steps so that he was facing Vincent from the side, his smile becoming Cheshire. "You like to show off. I'm saying that I don't need you doing your drills twice as fast trying to impress everyone..."

"I never—" Vincent interjected, only to be cut off by Johns's sickly sweet voice.

"Are you going to deny it to my face, SOLDIER? And since when were you allowed to talk to me without saying 'sir'?"

Vincent's normally loose posture stiffened visibly underneath his blue uniform. Fortunately for him, he did not end up having to say anything.

"Is there something wrong, Sargent Johns?"

"Commander Hewley..." Johns said, turning. His entire demeanor seemed to change almost instantaneously, as the First Class SOLDIER approached, followed closely by the Second Class, Zack Fair.

"Hey," Zack said, giving a nod of his head in the direction of the Thirds, who had nearly stopped doing their drills to overhear what was being said.

Angeal looked over Johns, not bothering to hide his suspicion. Johns was one who often needed to be "watched". He trained SOLDIERs well, but was known for showing favoritism.

"Your name, Private?" Angeal asked Vincent, after Johns stumbled over his words and did not speak.

"Vincent Valentine, sir," he stated, thankfully, upon seeing Angeal. Vincent's eyes wandered curiously over to Zack, who scratched his mane of unruly spiked hair, then smiled at him.

Vincent had seen Zack Fair before (though they had never spoken), and heard many rumors of him, yet he was somehow still surprised by the Second's obviously easy-going nature. It was something rare in a SOLDIER, and in some ways made Vincent relax slightly even in the presence of the huge, strong figure of Angeal Hewley, which often sent younger members gawking in awe.

Angeal gave Johns a disappointed look, one that seemed to tell the man to keep quiet and allow the Private to talk, before he himself asked Vincent another question.

"Do you know why Johns pulled you out of the line?" Angeal enquired.

A few tactless Thirds who were not as impressed by Angeal, or any form of authority besides the legendary General Sephiroth, giggled lowly. Vincent glanced back at them, for a moment, not even bothering to glare.

Angeal shot them one of his famous looks of disapproval in response, which quieted the boys immediately. "I'm speaking to Private Valentine. The rest of you continue on with your drills," he said loudly to the others, before focusing on Vincent. "Go ahead Private."

"I'm not sure, Commander Hewley," Vincent replied truthfully, feeling the hateful gaze of Johns burning into him.

Johns seemed to recover finally from his cowardice, to defend himself. "Private Valentine thought it would be funny to show off, so he was interrupting our drill line by rushing through his exercises." Though Johns's words were assertive, his body language declared otherwise. He was severely unnerved by Angeal.

"I see," Angeal said cryptically, his voice edged with suspicion.

The lines of Thirds seemed to straighten suddenly. Their exercises, which had been satisfactory, but not perfect, quickly became studied. All heads, however, were turned in the same direction off to the left, rather than forward.

Johns's posture became rigid, as a look of panic took over his dull brown eyes. He swallowed nervously, as Vincent stood awkwardly in front of Angeal and Zack, the latter who didn't bother to suppress a grin at what the Thirds were so interested in.

"General," Angeal said, with a small smile. Everyone saluted, even those doing the exercises (who stopped briefly to do so), as the man in the black leather trench coat finally stopped within a few feet of Angeal.

"Commander Hewley," Sephiroth said softly while inclining his head, his lips curling up very slightly at the corners, enough that only Angeal could see that he had smiled. "SOLDIERs." His slit- like pupils were tiny, nearly invisible lines in the direct, overbearing sunlight, as they assessed the Thirds quickly.

"Am I interrupting?" Sephiroth asked, addressing Angeal.

"Not at all. I'm just having a discussion with one of the Privates, and Johns, here," Angeal replied, to which Johns seemed to visibly let out a tremendous sigh of relief.

Johns had been warned once by the General to not bully his charges; it was not a discussion he would ever wish to repeat. If anything, the General's calm, steady voice and flashing eyes were far more frightening than being yelled or raged at by the biggest, most intimidating authorities.

Though Johns was considered a First, he was at the very bottom of the pecking order, not even sent on missions except when there was dire need for extra hands. He was more of a teacher than an authority, due to his past mistakes. He no longer was permitted to receive Mako injections. He walked a thin, dangerous line on the edge of the SOLDIER program.

Vincent, like the others, could not take his eyes off of Sephiroth, who seemed painfully unaware of the effect he caused just by being near.

Many of them had seen the General only once in the past few months, right upon their initiation into the SOLDIER program. He had spoke little then, only introducing himself and giving a brief lecture upon the importance of SOLDIER. He had stayed in the room for only ten minutes, but had caused complete unrest amongst all the new recruits who were meeting a living legend, one printed over thousands of posters and idolized by any boy who wanted to be involved in war. Many had grown up with his face plastered across the walls of their bedrooms.

Sephiroth did not provide the reassuring, yet stern atmosphere of Angeal, nor did he at all make a room loosen from his mere presence (quite the opposite), as Vincent guessed Zack Fair would be able when he would someday became part of the welcoming ceremony for new recruits. No, he was an entirely different personality, one that was both overwhelmingly intimidating and utterly unapproachable. And what was worse, was that the man seemed to be completely unaware of how eyes followed his every movement.

His androgynous looks, which seemed able to appeal to most anyone, and his long flowing hair, made him seem like the perfect representation of an angel. It was his sharp, intelligent eyes, however, that seemed both foreign to his soft looks, yet some how suited to his more introverted personality.

Sephiroth nodded, not fooled, his eyes still on the Thirds who were working overly hard to impress him.

"Why did you feel the need to pull this soldier aside, Sargent?" Sephiroth asked, looking over to Vincent for the first time.

The boy's ebony, chin-length hair hung about his face like a protective veil, while maroon eyes—a sharp contrast to the black—looked out from under it. He was visibly shaken, though to give the boy credit, he caught the General's gaze. Red locked with green.

Vincent did not look away, which caused the General to laugh nearly inaudibly, from deep in his chest. Johns, who was standing fairly close to the General, took a step back, caught off guard by the sound. The laugh frightened Vincent as well, at first, as assumed that he had done something wrong. His eyes darted to the ground quickly, pointedly averted from the General.

Johns gathered his voice, and spoke. "He was not doing his exercises correctly, sir," Johns said, his voice shaking slightly.

"How so?" Sephiroth demanded, all serious again, as his penetrating, unblinking stare focused on unremarkable brown eyes.

Johns faltered under that trademark gaze. "H-he...I mean, he was.... He was showing off, sir," Johns stated stupidly, stealing a glance at Angeal, who did not step in. Zack was no longer smiling, but listening intently, his arms crossed in front of his chest.

"Hardly. I saw them performing drills," Sephiroth dead panned, his eyes holding accusation. His eyes narrowed as he spoke his next words: "It is not wise to lie to me, Sargent."

He didn't even wait for Johns to reply, before saying, "Come with me, Johns." He motioned abruptly for Johns to follow, causing the Drill Sargent to blanche considerably.

"General," Angeal cut in, taking a few steps forward.

"It's quite alright. I believe Sargent Johns and I have had this discussion before," Sephiroth answered, looking back to Johns and giving a very meaningful smile that had nothing to do with being happy or amused. His eyes held a swirling anger.

"Commander Hewley, would you mind helping these Thirds finish their drills?"

A look of understanding had crossed over Angeal's face. "Of course," he said, turning away from Johns, with yet another look of 'where's your honor?'.

"Private, may I have your name?" Sephiroth questioned, his sea green eyes back on Vincent.

Again, the boy did not allow his nervousness to get the best of him. "Private Vincent Valentine, sir."

Sephiroth nodded curtly in acknowledgment. "Fall in, Valentine."

"Yes sir," Vincent answered. He hurried back to his place without question, and for once did not even have to ask the others to move aside to give him room.

Zack smiled a little, seemingly glad about the turn of events. He was well aware of what it was like to be singled out by authorities and peers. It was nice that there was some redemption for a change.


	2. Promise

A/N: I officially have no life. No really. 3500 words in one go, pretty good, eh? I apologize for the slowness of these first chapters. The more dull scenes are actually key to the plot, which is why they are included. Uhg. Anyway, once we get passed all this junk it'll get more interesting. Also, I am a complete layman when it comes to military ranks/terms, just be aware. Expect a lot of darkness and violence in later chapters, though I doubt it'll be as gloomy as some of my other writing, however, I'm not promising anything. Just check the genres...

Thanks to **Lia,** **whatevergirl, **and** KT** who reviewed; I get all super-giddy when people review! Anyway, I hope you guys, and everyone else reading, like the story :)

* * *

Sephiroth gave nothing away, as he leant against the glossed black desk in his office. He had not said a word the entire walk from the grounds up to the second to the top floor (the very top was where the President resided) of the Shinra building, where his office with the panoramic view, was situated. Johns had entered the room behind the General, clearly at unease.

The fact that the silver-haired man had said nothing, did not bode well for Johns.

Johns cursed his own lack of luck. It just _had_ to be the General who was watching the squads. And after the talk about six months back, Johns knew he was about to get the cool, collected rebuke of the General, at the very least. That could easily be followed by him being shipped off to some remote facility where he would spend the rest of his life buried under mountains of paperwork. It was not an option the attention-craving Sargent wanted to think about.

He liked his job, even if he did complain about it, and he didn't believe that pushing one of the recruits around a little bit should warrant his removal from the base, or his position. However, it was not something he considered voicing to the General. That would be downright stupid.

"Sit," Sephiroth ordered, his face the epitome of distant and unreadable.

The glare that had come from his eyes had subsided, disappearing behind whatever wall the General had erected, only moments after ordering Johns to follow him. Johns did not notice the emotions that were rarely displayed by the General, he simply thought the man was unfeeling (as did most others who did not understand such complexities), which was why he was so desperately worried over what the General was about to tell him.

Sephiroth did not like Sargent Stanley Johns. Johns had never been a remarkable SOLDIER, nor had he ever displayed any heroism or bravery. Quite the contrary, on the battlefield, Johns was a complete coward, and useless to even the most authoritative persons. Sephiroth knew that the man was a natural bully, which was yet another reason Sephiroth had no respect for him.

Johns may have easily bullied while he himself was in the lower ranks, but when he had become a First, he could not. Without a small group of others to back him up, Johns was forgotten as the so-called 'leader' as friends strayed from him, becoming more of a burden than anything else. Sephiroth believed the betrayal was fitting for such a person.

Johns was only put on as a teacher because of the shortage of Firsts. Since he was a far below average SOLDIER (his graduation had been severely in question after a certain incident), and was good at bullying anything smaller and weaker than him, his personality had gotten him into the position of Drill Sargent. It stroked the man's ego more than Sephiroth believed was necessary, but at least Johns filled a post that would otherwise have needed filling.

Even so, Sephiroth had long considered removing Johns from the base, but had given the SOLDIER the benefit of the doubt, when Johns had vowed to treat his subordinates with better care. The General had not believed him, and had made certain to question the man whenever he had the opportunity.

Sephiroth felt he needed to be particularly harsh with Johns, as there seemed to be no other way to make the man listen attentively. His words to the SOLDIER would be frank.

"I tire of speaking with you, Johns. In fact, I have no reason _not_ to strip you of your title." Sephiroth's voice was even, his eyes emotionless. "You openly lied to me in front of another commanding officer, and not to mention the squad of Thirds that you are supposed to be setting an example for."

Johns, though he was often tactless, was smart enough to know not to look the General directly in the eye. He could feel a cold sweat seeping from his skin. The cool, air-conditioned office was stark from the outside temperatures, nearly making the Sargent shiver. However, if anything was to make him shiver, it was the coldness of the General's tone.

"I'm going to need your reports on each of the Thirds in your charge."

"Sir," Johns said, finally looking up at the impossibly controlled green eyes. "Just give me another chance..." he said quietly, nearly in a whisper.

"You had your chance, Johns. I do not deal in third chances. You have made it clear that you have no respect for me, nor the program you work for. I have no uses for SOLDIERs who prove worthless even at the most simplest of tasks set to them."

Sephiroth's words seemed to hit Johns like a blow to the head, as he slouched suddenly, his round, stubbled face reddening with an anger he wanted to display.

"Give me your report, Johns," Sephiroth stated, rising to stand instead of leaning more comfortably against the desk.

Johns realized immediately that it was over. The General was not even going to hear him out. John's expression of anger flowered with a sudden bitterness.

"I can have it to you by the afternoon, sir," Johns said, his overbearing emotions all too apparent in his tone.

Sephiroth did not seem in the mood to tolerate such behavior, as his next words were sharper than ever, like a well-made blade:

"You'll give it now, orally. I want a detailed analysis of each member of your squad so that when I find someone..." Sephiroth paused for a moment, allowing his words to fully sink in to the listener, enough to scar. "_competent_.... He may be as well prepared as any of the other Sargents."

"I want you packed by this afternoon. You're to be shipped off by evening from this base, _Private_."

* * *

The Thirds, who had barely been under the watchful eye of Angeal Hewley for two hours, were dripping with sweat under the sweltering heat of the sun.

Zack Fair was standing off to the side, observing with amusement, the more stern side of Angeal.

Zack, as a Second, was given time off. He often spent it either dogging Angeal for extra sparring time, or off somewhere with Kunsel. On this day, he was procrastinating on some of his classwork (he was still taking one class on strategy, along with the typical training courses required of any SOLDIERs who were not Firsts) to instead sit back and watch someone else work hard for a change.

"Hey, take it easy on 'em Angeal," Zack said smiling, as the boys ran past (some heaving like they were about to vomit), while waving heavy rifles over their heads.

Angeal nodded, noticing too that they were looking a little worse for wear. "Alright, take a break," Angeal ordered, loudly enough that the tired Thirds could hear him over their stomping feet and labored breathing. Most of them staggered to a stop, looking over at Angeal and saluting, before dropping down on the pavement to hydrate with the large canteens they had strapped over their shoulders.

"So much for endurance," Zack said, shaking his head. "They look really exhausted."

"I believe this is one of the lower skilled squads," Angeal said by way of explanation. His attention however, was still on the SOLDIER he had been earlier introduced to.

Vincent Valentine, who was winded slightly, was standing away from the others, drinking small sips from his canteen. He was the only one of the bunch who had not shown too much strain from the exercises.

He was about a head taller than his classmates, but unfortunately had a smaller build, that Angeal guessed would likely not get half so broad as many of the others. He seemed naturally long-limbed, but his endurance had proved to be much more lasting than his peers, which meant that he might not be as held back by his body type as others in his place might have been.

"Looks like Valentine did pretty well," Zack commented.

"So it does," Angeal agreed, glad that Zack was being observant.

After a brief rest, Angeal rounded up his group of Thirds, leading them toward the other side of the base, where a track was set up. It was an obstacle course of sorts, that depended not only on the endurance of the SOLDIER, but his physical strength and speed as well.

Angeal was not going by any particular schedule, as he did not have the sheet, nor did he much like the ways of many Sargents who had their squads follow strict routines. It was, in Angeal's opinion, much better to change things up, and often. The element of surprise kept the tasks from being overly boring and repetitive, pulling more interest and effort from the SOLDIERs.

"Today you're going to be running the course. I'm assuming this will be the first time, so don't be nervous. You are being timed, however, there will be no penalty for not making the bell. You'll make 10 laps, the equivalent of about 5 miles; it shouldn't be too terrible. Just get out there and let me see what you can do," Angeal finished, giving a small, reassuring smile. "You may begin."

Many of the Thirds seemed to start off at a breakneck pace, sprinting all out with no thoughts of the consequences of such actions. They didn't seem to have any idea in the slightest of how long five miles actually was. If the exercises from earlier were any indication, they would be lagging at about a mile.

"They haven't been running much, have they?" Zack stated after a moment, watching with interest as they pounded down the course at a rate that even Zack knew would falter all too quickly.

Looking over to Angeal, he knew from the man's furrowed brows and thoughtful expression, that he was thinking the same thing.

After a few minutes, Zack addressed Angeal again.

"Aren't they supposed to be running at least ten miles easy by now?" Zack said incredulously, as he already had begun to see signs of slowing by the leaders of the pack of Thirds.

Valentine, Zack saw, was somewhere in the middle of all the chaos, keeping a good steady rhythm.

Angeal only grunted in response to Zack's question, as he kept his eyes on the group, and those falling behind it already. "They're going to need a lot of work," Angeal said quietly, more to himself than to Zack.

It was obvious that Johns might not have been doing his job too well, given the Thirds' performance. This group would need extra care and attention if there was any chance of them remaining in the SOLDIER program. It was already a couple months in, Angeal knew, and the recruits were looking like they were fresh out of the gate, not tested in the least. They would stand no chance next to other Thirds in a few more months if their training regime was not altered.

It was awhile later into the run, when Sephiroth approached, having spent quite awhile pulling the information he needed from the seething Johns. The man was probably back in his apartments, packing already. Sephiroth suppressed a smile at the thought.

He stopped to stand next to Angeal, glimpsing Zack a bit of a distance away, as he looked out at what had caught the Commander's rapt attention. Angeal, Sephiroth noticed, seemed rather concerned.

"Something amiss, Angeal?" Sephiroth asked, after a long silence, where both watched the decline of the majority of the group, who were huffing and puffing, some even stopping to walk instead of jog.

Several of the Thirds were dotted throughout the course, some a few laps behind the majority.

It was Valentine who stood out as a runner. He was easily a mile ahead of all the others (he was getting ready to lap the most of the group a second time), leaping over hurtles with a learned grace that should have belonged to someone who was much older and experienced. His pace was measured, and had not slowed once throughout the trial.

"Valentine is a mile ahead," Angeal said calmly.

Sephiroth was shaking his head as he saw many of the SOLDIERs stopping from tiredness.

"How many?" Sephiroth questioned. He did not have to elaborate for Angeal to know what he meant.

"Ten. They're doing pitifully."

Sephiroth showed no outward response, though Angeal knew him well enough to detect that he was extraordinarily displeased. When the General spoke, it confirmed Angeal's theory.

"Perhaps I did not punish Johns enough," he mused, green eyes watching Valentine with a keen interest, as the boy climbed over the rope wall without any hesitation or slowing.

Though the boy probably didn't have as much upper body strength as some of the others, he seemed to be more than capable of throwing around his own weight. Both of the Firsts were focused in on him, as he made his way around the track.

"I'd like to remove Valentine from this squad," Angeal said to the silence, looking over at Sephiroth, whose silver strands of hair were waving lightly in the breeze.

"He would need extra training before entering a better squad," Sephiroth answered. It was more of a disguised question than a statement.

"Mmm," Angeal said, sighing. "I think that might be something that Zack could help me with. Valentine seems to be a good kid, he just needs something more intensive to get him up to par."

"Do you believe he has a good chance, more so than the others?"

Sephiroth already knew the outcome for the other Thirds in the squad was bleak at best, but he also knew that Angeal had much more patience with such things than he did. Angeal also had an eye for talent; Sephiroth valued the man's assessments.

"Yes."

"Then do it," Sephiroth said, smiling slightly. "It appears that Johns may have been intentionally holding him back."

"I think he was holding all of them back," Zack said, nearing the two.

He had been off to the side, to get a better view of the more trying part of the course. He hadn't heard most of the conversation, only the General's last words. It was obvious that all of the SOLDIERs could use a lot more practice at running, and likely everything else as well.

"How did he get away with it?" Zack asked, looking to both Angeal and Sephiroth.

"Johns? It is not as difficult as you would think, especially recently. You know how often the Firsts are away. It's hard to keep up with all of squads going around, starting at different times. We don't have time to check out everyone's progress," Angeal said, somewhat apologetically.

"Yeah, but what happens to the squads like this? They just don't pass because they've got a bad leader who doesn't try to improve them? It's not fair at all," Zack said somewhat angrily, glancing back out at the struggling Thirds.

"You're right, it isn't always fair, puppy. That's why we try to come out here and observe whenever we get the chance. Most of our Sargents are very competent though, so it doesn't happen all that often, thankfully."

Angeal was troubled by Zack's observation, more than he would allow the Second to know. It was not a good sign that something like this had gone on for a few months. He would definitely be checking in with the Sargents on a much more frequent basis.

Sephiroth, who had remained quiet since Zack's approach, finally ended his silence. "This will not be happening again; I will not allow for it," Sephiroth promised, staring directly into Zack's glowing blue eyes.

Sephiroth was beyond enraged at what he was seeing, though he continued to remain the appearance of aloofness. He was not only angry with Johns, but himself for not being able to keep tabs on Johns as well as he should have. It had been the bullying that had troubled him the most, and he had not stopped to consider whether or not Johns was properly caring for those he was training.

Sephiroth had been occupied much of the time, but he knew that he could have found some way to make time. Now there were months down the drain and a group of SOLDIERs who would likely never make it to Seconds anyway. Even with a good Sargent, the less skilled groups often had no graduates. The boys usually dropped out when they realized that they could not keep up the pace of the program.

However, Sephiroth still regretted that he had not done more to ensure Johns was doing his job. He did not like it when equal opportunity was not given to all. After all, occasionally there was one of the below average thirds who ended up becoming promising, and even made it to graduation. Willpower could go a longer way than most knew, Sephiroth reflected.

Zack nodded, kicking at the dirt with a boot. "Good," he said quietly. "It's not right."

Angeal chuckled lightly, giving Zack an approving look.

Zack didn't understand at first, and frowned, saying, "Hey..."

Sephiroth answered before Angeal did. "It wasn't meant badly, Zack," Sephiroth said. "I think that is Angeal's way of saying he approves of your empathy; it is a good quality that is hard to find in a SOLDIER."

Though Sephiroth had spoken in his typical uninflected voice, both Angeal and Zack seemed entirely taken aback by the sentiment. It wasn't necessarily out of character, but it was definitely rare for the General to pay someone a compliment—even a partially veiled one.

Zack took it as a sign that the General might actually like him more than he thought. Though they weren't exactly 'friends' in the normal sense, Zack felt an attachment to Sephiroth, not only because of Angeal, but because he himself thought Sephiroth was a good person. He would accept whatever strange form of friendship that the General was comfortable with.

"Thanks...Sephiroth," Zack answered awkwardly, grinning. Sephiroth did not speak, but gave an inclination of his head to show that he understood.

To break the silence, Angeal turned to Zack. "You see any you think are promising?"

Zack's brilliant blue eyes went back out to the training course. He took a few seconds before replying. "What about Vincent? He's doing much better on the exercises than the others."

"What do you think about helping me to get him ready for one of the other squads?"

Zack grinned broadly in response. "Yeah, I'd love to." His grin loosened up a bit as he seemed to think it over. "But I'm not allowed to train, am I?"

"Of course you are. Anyone is allowed to give another SOLDIER help in the areas he's weaker in," Angeal answered. "As long as it doesn't interfere with your own training, naturally."

"You said you're going to help too though, right?"

"Yes, I'll be helping," Angeal replied. "I have a lot of work to do, but I don't see why I can't set some of it aside for a few weeks. When I don't have the time, you can teach him."

* * *

Vincent couldn't believe what he was hearing. Commander Hewley was volunteering to not only put him in one of the more advanced squads right away, but to help him personally catch up to the others that would be in his group. Zack Fair was also going to be overseeing his training during the times Commander Hewley was away.

"You can stay with this group if you're more comfortable, but I think that your skill level is above theirs. You would have a lot more of a challenge in another group, with SOLDIERs closer to your own speed and strength," Angeal commented to the raven-haired teen.

When Vincent was quiet for a moment, Angeal quickly added, "If you need to think it over, that would be fine too."

Vincent looked down at his boots for a minute, trying to make sure his voice didn't crack with the emotion that was welling up in his chest. He had never been noticed before, particularly by such a seasoned SOLDIER as Commander Hewley.

"No, I don't need time to think it over. Just... Thank you, sir," he finished shyly, though he was all smiles underneath his shining hair.

"So you accept, then?" Angeal asked, making certain.

"Yes, sir. Thank you." Vincent was glad that he kept his voice composed; it was extremely difficult, but he didn't need to come off as an idol-struck teen to the man who was offering to tutor him. He wanted to appear worthy.

"Good," Angeal said, clamping a hand on the boy's thin shoulder and giving him a reassuring look.


	3. Guilt Gets to the Best of Us

**A/N:** Thanks to **Eriol-sama**, **lynixe**, **whatevergirl**, and **KT**, for reviewing! And to answer the questions about Genesis, he will be in this! Don't worry, I didn't forget about him (he's one of my favorite characters). In fact I was going to mention that he'd be showing up later in my last author's note, but somehow I forgot.... Anyway, he has a VERY brief appearance in this chapter, but he'll become a larger part of the story later on. As for Grimoire, I don't think he is going to show up in this, sorry! :( Everything is going to get complicated later and I'm going to have to figure out how to make it all work without too many plot holes and without altering the characters too much.... And you should be worrying about Johns; you haven't seen the last of him....

Sephiroth is very stiff and formal with Vincent in this chapter, just a warning if anyone was hoping for fluff. Sephiroth's having issues...maybe he's PMSing?

* * *

Vincent lugged his black canvas duffel through the narrow doorway, into the small, cold room.

Bunks were arranged throughout, two levels each, and compact enough that there was still a comfortable amount of space for occupants to move around.

Though the room was home to five teenaged boys, Vincent guessed that some sort of inspection had been done recently, as the bunks were made and everything was neatly tucked into the small cubbies that more or less served as closets.

He dropped his bag with a sigh, looking around at some of the pictures that had been tacked to the walls. The family photos one might have expected, were conspicuously absent, replaced with pictures of half-dressed women, and much to Vincent's horror, a large recruiting poster of the General Sephiroth.

Sephiroth's hair was pushed to the side by wind, his green eyes glinting esoterically (Vincent now knew the General's eyes had not been enhanced in the photo), while his coat billowed lightly behind him. Vincent swallowed, moving his duffel another foot before looking back at the picture.

It really did look just like him.

Vincent had long suspected that he would meet the General and be disappointed; it seemed most idols never lived up to the standards put to them. But when Vincent had walked into the welcoming ceremony, he had been far from disappointed, in fact, he had been intrigued. There was something strangely mysterious about the man. He had been even more fascinating in person than a simple photo could ever manage to relay.

He knew most of the SOLDIERs had slight obsessions with Sephiroth, after all, the man was the ultimate representation of what a SOLDIER could achieve. Vincent secretly wondered what it was like to be something even close to Sephiroth, what it would be like to have so much respect up front. The General didn't have to prove himself to anyone; stories of his battles spread at a rate even faster than the old women were capable of exchanging town gossip.

Vincent did not want to necessarily be a hero. He wanted to do right, but the thought of being so well known made his head ache. Like any youth, he had always toyed with the thought of doing great things, but unlike most, he was realistic in what he wanted and what he knew he was capable of handling. It would take a lot of strain to be able to live up to such a standard that he knew the General did. For Vincent, it seemed too large a price to pay for something as simple as public recognition and renown. He preferred to remain in the shadows; it would suit him better that way.

He looked away from the photo finally, unzipping his duffel and sorting things out on his bunk so that he could pack them into the cubby he'd been given.

As he unpacked, hoped that his roommates would be more tolerable than the previous ones he had encountered. At least there was a chance that the room might actually remain somewhat clean.

* * *

It was early in the morning, and Vincent had just finished doing drills alongside his new peers. He knew a few of them, not by name, but in passing. Most squads lunched around the same time as their counterparts, with Thirds being the last to make it in out of all of the SOLDIERs, as they had more classes and training exercises to complete. That was where he thought he had seen a few of them before.

Vincent had not spoken a word besides his name to his new bunk mates, but was not bothered by it. He didn't have much interest in sitting around hearing them talk about girls back home or movie stars and musicians he had never heard of. He had discovered early on that if he simply did not talk, people lost interest in him quickly. Therefore he was left alone, and was able to have quiet time to actually think without all of the boys talking loudly to him.

He was nervous, as he walked toward one of the training buildings that he had never been to before. Angeal had cleared Vincent's ID so that the teen could get into the building by himself, and even train alone as long as he was within curfew. Vincent was more than grateful, though he was apprehensive at the same time. He did not want to disappoint Commander Hewley by not performing as well as expected. Vincent was resolved to do his absolute best, so that the Commander would not regret his decision.

Vincent knew that this extra training was going to be his only chance at improving enough so that he could remain in the SOLDIER program. After he had seen the skills of his new squad, he had become very aware of how far behind his own group had been. Vincent could already tell that as far as swordplay and strength went, he would need to improve quick or risk falling even further behind. The last thing he wanted was to drop out because he wasn't good enough.

The automated door slid aside silently, allowing Vincent to step inside the white, tiled entryway. Unlike other buildings Vincent had been in (very few, given how many buildings were on the base), there was no desk or secretary.

He walked as quietly as he could, taking a glance at the directional signs posted around every corner. The Commander had said the room was off to the left.

The room was at the end of a very long hallway, right next to the simulator than many of the more experienced SOLDIERs used for specialized training and to learn group tactics. The door to the simulator (beside the room Vincent was headed), was shining steel, with a much more complicated lock featuring a pad for a fingerprint and palm scan, alongside the typical card key lock.

Vincent looked at the door in front of him, 24B. He stood outside for a moment, collecting himself. Though he was often considered shy, he could overcome such inhibitions when the occasion called for it, especially when he had time to sort himself out. He took a few studied breaths and straightened the front of his blue uniform, before dropping then withdrawing his card key swiftly into the slot.

The lock flashed yellow for a brief instant, before turning red. The door beeped, but did not open. Vincent stared at it for a moment, then pushed on it slightly to make sure it had not unlocked.

"Great," Vincent whispered to himself, looking at his card key with a frown.

He inserted it a second time, hopeful, but again the lock flashed red and did not unlock. After several more attempts, he stole a glance around the hall. It probably wouldn't hurt to knock.

Vincent gave a steady rap on the heavy door, already aware that the material was likely too thick for anyone to hear such light taps. He balled his fist and pounded a few times instead, somewhat worried about being so loud, but more concerned about getting into the room to be embarrassed.

Nothing. Vincent sighed loudly, brushing a hand through his hair in his tenseness. It fell back across his maroon eyes as it always did, when he rested his back against the wall. _Should I go find someone who can open the door for me? _He wondered. He was slightly annoyed by his predicament; it wasn't exactly the ideal situation for the first meeting with his tutor.

He decided to give it one last try, and turned back to the door. Again he hit it roughly with his fist, but stopped abruptly as the steel doors to his right lurched heavily apart. The sound of buzzing electricity and visible wisps of smoke permeated through the opening, as someone appeared.

The man was tall, and wore a long, rust-red colored leather coat. His hair stopped just above the black pauldrons covering his shoulders, a vibrant ginger color even in the dim lighting.

Vincent knew him on sight. It was the First, Genesis Rhapsodos. He, like Sephiroth, had his own collection of fans and worshipers. Vincent was amazed to see him, as he had heard that the First was one of the busiest on the base. It was rumored that he was trying to make his name more known than even Sephiroth's.

However, it was obviously not the day for anyone to approach Genesis for an autograph, because he stormed through the doorway, bringing a cloud of smoke from the inner room into the hall with him from the quickness of the movement. He looked downright angry, and smelled of fire and sweat. His lips were open just enough for Vincent to see that his teeth were clenched, and his blue eyes possessed a fury that would have sent anyone less confident, cowering away.

However, after looking Sephiroth in the eye the previous day, for some reason Vincent felt he could do anything, so he did not move from his spot, even as the man flew past him in a flurry of red leather.

"Genesis!"

Vincent looked back to the door to see the General emerge from it, also bringing in the smell of smoke and the greyed air with him.

Sephiroth's voice had sounded strained; it was not the cool, calm tone that Vincent had already become accustomed to. There was something very different attached to it. Worry?

"Genesis..." he said more quietly, his green eyes finally darting to the blue uniformed Third who was standing in the hallway in front of him.

Genesis was long gone, however, the smoke was not. The smoke detector next to the doorway and the ones down the hall, began to beep horribly loud, enough decibels that Vincent instantly covered his ears to help prevent the sound from being any worse.

Sephiroth, though he had been caught off guard by the Third, showed no emotional reaction to what had just occured.

The General walked toward Vincent, who at first thought he had just gotten himself in trouble for something by the way Sephiroth was moving toward him. Those thoughts were dashed, when the man stopped next to Vincent, and pulled a card key from the inner pocket of his jacket.

The alarm was frighteningly loud, and lights placed strategically at corners had started to flash their angry, revolving red beams.

Sephiroth appeared unperturbed, as he slide the card key into the lonely slot on the small wall space between room 24B and the simulator's door.

Instantly, the obnoxious sound ceased. The lights that had turned on, switched off. Vincent, who had tensed from both the nearness of the General, as well as the sound that had overwhelmed his senses, sighed audibly.

Sephiroth looked directly at Vincent this time, then spoke through the new silence. "Private Valentine, yes?"

Vincent who was still getting over his shock, nodded in answer.

"Are you searching for a room?" Sephiroth said, his voice back to cool perfection.

Had Vincent not seen the look on Genesis's face, nor heard the strange emotion that had tinged the General's voice only a few seconds prior, Vincent would have never suspected that there had been anything wrong.

Something inside of Vincent's chest, grew, a sort of understanding. For some reason it was comforting to know that the General was human in all senses of the word, but at the same time, Vincent felt his respect for the man become a little stronger within in just a few seconds. He knew it must be hard to just shut everything behind a wall, to not allow personal problems to get in the way of one's duty.

"Well, sir," Vincent started, not quite sure what to say. "My card key isn't working..."

"You need to get into this room?" he said, gesturing to 24B with a glove-clad hand.

"Yes, thank you sir," Vincent replied, in a near whisper.

The General moved toward the door, and Vincent hurried out of the way, feeling somewhat awkward, but nonetheless happy that Sephiroth didn't seem to be angry or irritated by him. Of course, Vincent reflected, he doubt he would be able to tell what exactly the man was feeling at any given time.

The door opened easily, with a loud click.

"Thank you sir," Vincent repeated again, feeling a bit stupid for sounding so grateful.

He smiled through a lock of his black hair, then turned away from the General. He walked into the huge, open room quickly, wanting to put a bit of distance between him and the man who made him feel so out of place. He heard the door close and lock behind him.

Vincent let out a very loud sigh that he had been holding back. Why did so much have to go wrong in such a small time frame? And why did he have to say thank you like a babbling moron? Vincent shook his head of ebony hair, and took a few more steps forward, letting his eyes drift over the room so that he didn't have to dwell.

It was open, airy, with black, padded walls and several mats strewn across the floor. It looked like a good place for many people to train at once, which made Vincent wonder why it was empty. And where was Commander Hewley?

He was pulled from his reverie, as he heard the very light sounds of boots on the floor near the door he had just come from. Vincent spun around, eyes wide, as he realized the General was directly behind him.

"S-sir..." Vincent looked confused for a moment, as he locked eyes with secretive green. It took a second for him to realize that the General had followed him inside.

"I'm assuming Commander Hewley was held in at a meeting. They do have a tendency to run over," Sephiroth said, his deep voice echoing throughout the spacious room. He walked past Vincent, casting a glance around.

One of Sephiroth's gloved hands disappeared into the black folds of his coat, before returning with a bright red cell phone that seemed a little cheerier than something the General would personally pick out. He flipped it open, and looked over it briefly, before addressing Vincent again.

"It looks like it will be awhile," Sephiroth stated. "Did you leave early?"

"About twenty minutes, sir," Vincent answered.

His heart was beating itself to a pulp against his ribcage, and his hands had started to sweat already. The General seemed to have that effect on everyone; it was surprising enemies did not just seize and die at his feet from the sight of him.

"Angeal would have probably sent someone to tell you," Sephiroth said. "It's no matter," he added, looking down at Vincent. "Please select a weapon from the rack, Private."

Vincent had to keep himself from openly staring. He suddenly felt light-headed, as his heart raced even faster, and a worrying prickle covered his arms and forehead, like tiny needles.

"I–I...Sir, I can't!" Vincent answered in a rush. His hand clamped over his mouth as he realized what he had just said. _How could I be so stupid?_ he thought, his mind in a sudden panic. He immediately tried to apologize for his insubordination, only to be drowned out by Sephiroth.

"There is no need to be nervous. I assure you that I won't harm you," Sephiroth said, walking over toward the weapon rack and leaving a stunned Vincent behind him.

"But sir...I mean, I know you have better things to do than give a Third instruction...." Vincent swallowed nervously, hoping he was not saying something the General would take as disobedience.

"Quite the contrary, Private Valentine," he answered, withdrawing a battered tanto from the scratched wooden rack. "You and your peers are the future of the SOLDIER program." He examined the tanto, staring up and down the length of the blade. "A weapon," he added, pointing toward the rack.

Vincent walked over to where the General was, his mind in overdrive. He didn't even know what weapon to select, or why the General was choosing to tutor someone like him, when there were plenty of others who showed much more aptitude than he did.

He looked over the rack in a panic, ruling out the katana, which looked to require a little more grace than Vincent was currently capable. He pulled out a broadsword, somewhat disheartened to find out how heavy it was. There were several nicks up the steel from where it had hit other blades, but Vincent could tell just from looking at it that it had once been a nice blade. It would have to do.

"How are you at swordplay?"Sephiroth enquired, nearing Vincent with the tanto held familiarly in his left hand.

Vincent could feel his face heat at the thought of what his skills were going to be in comparison to someone as legendary as Sephiroth. It was not going to be pretty.

"I barely know how to use a sword, if you want the truth, sir," Vincent answered, deciding he should be honest so that the General wouldn't expect too much. "I am better with guns, either handguns or rifles, but I don't think that's of much importance in SOLDIER."

Vincent stole a glance down at the large, awkward sword in his hands. He had to use both hands to lift it up properly.

"That is myth, Private. Yes, in earlier stages of SOLDIER, focus is primarily on swords, but when you achieve higher status, you are permitted to select your own weapon of choice."

"Really?" Vincent said quietly, realizing that there just might be hope for him after all.

Sephiroth gave a curt nod of his head. "However, it would be best if you learn as much as you are able about the use of swords. It could prove vital later on, given that so many use it as their sole weapon. You at least should be aware of how to defend against it."

"Less chance of having a dire weakness," Vincent commented, again glancing at the broadsword. He was glad he was finally able to keep his nerves from affecting his voice.

"Yes. It is desirable to be as well-rounded as possible, regardless of what some of your Sargents may tell you." Sephiroth seemed to be finished, but he thought better of it. After a pause, he continued:

"Strength is not a SOLDIER's only asset; it is but a piece of what he is. Only in combination with other well-formed pieces does it become useful."

Vincent realized that Sephiroth was telling him quite a bit in just a few sentences, and if one looked deep enough, he was giving encouragement. The boy couldn't help smiling slightly.

The practicing was not as hard as Vincent had first envisioned it to be. Instead of having to constantly defend against Sephiroth, the atmosphere was much more relaxed (Vincent was still nervous, but it was not too apparent), as the General demonstrated movements, then had Vincent imitate them. Once Vincent more or less grasped a stance, Sephiroth would strike slowly to allow the teen time to implement what he had just learned.

"Allow each slash to slide off your sword, instead of bluntly taking the hit. You will easily wear yourself out trying to keep your weapon from moving with each strike," Sephiroth offered, upon watching Vincent's block.

Vincent tried not to think about how elementary it must all seem to a General who was used to fighting some of the most skilled swordsman that had ever lived. He just did his best to take Sephiroth's advice and copy the movements as best as he was able so that it wouldn't be so tedious for the man.

He couldn't help but notice that even with the purposeful slowness of each slash, the General had a very obvious grace to everything he did. His movements were always fluid, seemingly always thought out, always planned. It was something that Vincent had never seen before. It would have been almost feminine, but somehow it radiated a predatory aura.

The long ebony coat swished around tall black boots, and the silver hair lay half over one shoulder, the rest spilling over Sephiroth's back, while bangs hung loosely around his chin. It was a clash of hardened SOLDIER with androgynous features and the lengthy hair that were both shockingly out of place, yet somehow had become harmonious together upon the man. It made him unexpected, and perhaps once upon a time, Vincent thought, it made people underestimate just what the man was capable of.

It was about twenty minutes later when Angeal finally appeared through the doorway, Zack trailing behind him. Vincent looked over at the two, but was forced to go back to fighting, as Sephiroth's tanto came down toward his chest.

Both Angeal and Zack were surprised by Sephiroth's presence, but said nothing as they stood nearby, watching Vincent block each attack to the best of his abilities.

"The stronger your opponent, the more effort it will take to keep them from getting through your defenses with a particularly heavy strike," Sephiroth said. "That is why when using a weapon like a sword, it pays to be fast. That way you can get in more hits edgewise as they build up their own strikes, and they are never given much opportunity to wear you down."

"Basically, it pays not to swing like a lumberjack," Zack added with a grin.

Vincent laughed behind his curtain of black hair, as Sephiroth rested the tanto at his side.

"I can take it from here, Sephiroth," Angeal stated. "Thank you for keeping him occupied." He gave Sephiroth a thankful smile, offering out his hand to take the tanto.

Sephiroth gave it to him, replying, "Not a problem."

The truth was, Sephiroth had felt a slight guilt, something that was virtually foreign to him. As a killer, guilt wasn't exactly something one needed on the edge of their thoughts. But the fact that he had not watched Johns as closely as he should have, bothered him. Giving one of the Thirds who had received the brunt of Johns's bullying ways an extra lesson, was simply Sephiroth's form of atonement. He would also be carefully overseeing Vincent's former squad alongside the new Sargent he had assigned to them.

"Thank you, General, sir," Vincent said in a low voice. He could feel the warmth washing over his face again, but he did manage to keep the General's gaze without faltering.

Sephiroth gave a tight-lipped smile, then turned and left.


	4. Welcome to Hell, Enjoy Your Stay

**A/N:** This is very much a go-between chapter that leads up to the next chapter (the one where more stuff happens). I could have just combined this with the next chapter, but then there wouldn't have been an update today, and I'm just so nice and all.... Okay, I'm not really nice, I'm sort of a sadist, but hey, I like you guys :) Also, I probably won't always update daily, but I'll do my best.

Thanks to **OvenBased**, **whatevergirl**, **Darthcloudness**, and **minoki**, for reviewing! :D I'm very happy that people are enjoying the story as much as I am writing it!

* * *

It was late when Sephiroth returned to his apartment.

The moon was high in the sky already, bright and incapable of being ignored, its beams lashing over the carpet as it snuck in through between the blinds. The darkness was welcome to the visitor that was situated on the couch near the window.

Sephiroth's phone had been ringing incessantly throughout the day, but he had not bothered to answer it—he had been far too preoccupied.

Sephiroth opened the door to his rooms, grateful to be back to the quiet.

If he hadn't been enhanced, he probably wouldn't have caught the figure that blended with the shadows playing over the black leather couch. The lines of moonlight just reached the tip of a dark boot that rested on the coffee table, while all else was clothed in darkness. But with his mako-enhanced vision, Sephiroth could make the face out clearly, and see the other set of eyes that watched him with their shining, mako gleam.

"Genesis..."

"Who else would it be?" Genesis answered, sounding vaguely irritable through the black. "Do people just randomly appear in your apartments?"

The man lifted something in his gloved hand, looking at it for a moment, before tossing it across the coffee table with a flick of his wrist.

Sephiroth could already discern that Genesis had not cooled down in the slightest from their earlier conversation. Though he had a bit of control to his voice, Sephiroth guessed that it was likely only time that had taken the edge off of it; the redhead was not one to get over a fight with grace.

"Take it," Genesis said, his eyes staring down at the paper he had thrown on the table.

Sephiroth picked up the folded document, and looked over it quickly.

"I personally requested that mission, you knew it. So why did you feel the need to steal it behind my back?"

Finally it was explained. Sephiroth would have sighed openly had Genesis not been observing his reaction so closely.

All day, rife with tension, on Genesis's second day back. The redhead hadn't even bothered to say hello to him the day before, then he had shown up at the training room when Sephiroth had scheduled its use. After two hours of waging war on one another to the point of exhaustion (where Genesis did no seem to be concerned about the General's safety or his own), Genesis had literally raged when he could not hold up against Sephiroth's every well-aimed strike.

What Sephiroth wasn't aware of, was the fact that during the afternoon, after their fight, Genesis had gone to Hollander, requesting even higher concentrated levels of mako. Though Genesis did not know much about Sephiroth's mako injections because he received them off base from the mad scientist Hojo, he wanted to ensure he was using an adequate amount that at least rivaled Sephiroth's.

It was dangerous, Hollander had said, but Genesis had ignored him. It was caution that made him weaker than the General. Hojo had never been cautious with his decisions for his prize subject, which was why, Genesis believed, Sephiroth was still able to beat him.

Sephiroth wasn't surprised that something so trivial had made Genesis furious. It seemed anything that had to do with their "competition" between one another made Genesis bitter and angry.

Though Genesis was usually impetuous, lately there had been more cunning added to his efforts. He seemed to be learning the value of waiting before striking, of taking the time to sink the blade in ever deeper, particularly when it came to Sephiroth. It was troubling, the way they were competing (very unwillingly on Sephiroth's part, at times) more than they were spending time being friends.

"I didn't take it from you, Genesis," Sephiroth asserted, crumpling the document in his black-gloved fist.

"That wasn't what Rufus Shinra told me the other day," Genesis said, rising to sit up straight from his leaning position across the plush pillows of the couch.

"Rufus Shinra is a power-hungry mess that will do anything to cause discord," Sephiroth retorted bluntly. "You would trust his word over my own?"

Genesis let out a short, humorless laugh. "Our relationship hasn't exactly been on the best of terms. I'm almost willing to believe anyone's word over yours at this point."

Sephiroth shook his head, silken silver hair catching in the moonlight.

"Is this what it has come to?" he enquired, his voice sounding almost sad.

"My friend, the fates are cruel/There are no dreams, no honor remains," Genesis recited, his voice sounding sour even while he spoke of LOVELESS. "How can I trust you when all you seem to want is to halt my progress?"

"I am not trying to impede you. I am trying to help you," Sephiroth said, his voice finally wavering with the anger that was building in his chest.

The mako injections.... Genesis regretted ever asking for Sephiroth's advice on the subject. It was likely his fault that Hollander said no when Genesis had spoken of upping the dosage on previous occasions. He more or less knew that Sephiroth must have gone to Hollander about it. That was yet another reason Genesis had decided to go through with his original intentions; Sephiroth was only standing in the way of what he needed.

"Helping me by not allowing me to be the best that I am able?" Genesis let out another laugh, more mocking than ever. "By allowing them to put you on a mission I personally requested, by telling Hollander that I'm not strong enough to handle as much mako as you? My friend, your actions proceed you." He smiled sardonically at the silver-haired man, then rose from the couch to stand.

"Genesis, I wasn't even aware that the mission was assigned to me. I will speak to the President about it; I'll have it given to you. As for Hollander...." The General grew quiet suddenly, unsure of how to word what needed to be said without further upsetting Genesis.

The redhead was like a minefield: the slightest misstep and he was set off. Sephiroth knew that it was likely a side effect of the mako he was receiving; Genesis was already well above and beyond what he _should_ ideally be taking. Mood swings were but a small part.

Sephiroth had stopped Hollander from agreeing to increase the amount, because he knew that there would only be more repercussions, more side effects. Sephiroth knew all too well about the side effects.... He would not allow Genesis to suffer his own fate, his own strained sanity that had been caused by Hojo overusing a substance that he knew so little about.

"I don't even want it anymore," Genesis nearly spat, maneuvering around the low coffee table to stand face to face with Sephiroth. "I'm through being second best to you, Sephiroth."

With that, he didn't even give the man time to respond as he pushed roughly past him, and yanked the door open. He slammed it shut behind him without looking back.

Sephiroth's face was in his gloved hands for a moment, as he let out a shaky breath.

_Is this what it has come to?_ he repeated to himself.

* * *

It had been a week since Vincent's spar with the General. Each day he had returned to the training room to practice with Commander Hewley, sometimes both in the morning and the afternoon. Zack was there too sometimes, which made the experience a little less tense for Vincent, though he was already getting over his shyness with Angeal.

Angeal was quiet, but he was like Zack in that he was reassuring. In fact, Vincent was even beginning to like Angeal's 'honor' speeches. He knew the man meant well, and he was quick to listen to any advice that the Commander was willing to offer.

Zack had even shown up at Vincent's lunch time a few days previous, and talked his ear off for the entire hour. Vincent, who normally wouldn't have liked such attention, found himself enjoying Zack's talkative company. Zack, unlike a lot of Vincent's peers, was bright, and talked about things besides just training and girls. Vincent even thought that someday he might be able to call the Second a friend, something he hadn't believed he would ever be able to do with anyone.

The day was to be different, however. All of the Thirds currently enrolled in the SOLDIER program were going on their first 'mission'. It was more of a test than an actual mission, but nonetheless they were all expected to take it seriously. It was to be a sort of boot camp to weed out anyone who was not up to par, and to give them all the experience they were lacking.

Like pop quizzes, the 'mission' was similar. Apparently, from what Vincent had gathered, they would occur often (more than once a month), without warning, and would last from anywhere from a day to a week. They were to be randomly grouped and given an assignment after the initial introduction (a brutal training course that was said to last about four hours).

Vincent had already talked to Commander Hewley about it, and discovered that the Commander was actually going to be one of a few who would be observing the mission. The Commander had also said that he thought Vincent would fair fine in the course, even if he still needed more catch-up training, as it had more to do with endurance and logic than physical skills such as swordplay. This put Vincent somewhat at ease, because he knew Commander Hewley would not speak confidently of him if it weren't true.

Everything had been packed the night before, and his duffel had been sent with the rest a few minutes prior. He was not told how long they would be gone, or even where they were going, so he tried to make sure to pack enough, but at the same time not over pack. He didn't want to carry around a bag full of everything he owned for a few days, or even a week—he doubted they would have any facility to sleep in anyway, as a sleeping bag had been on of the requirements.

He lined up with the rest of the Thirds, watching as several military trucks drove up and parked next to the others that were already there.

The trucks were all covered in canvas, held fast by the ropes that stabilized it to the broad beds. Though it was hard to see inside of them, even in the bright morning daylight, Vincent could make out what appeared to be narrow benches lined up against the walls of the beds of the trucks. If it got cold, it would be freezing, as air could easily penetrate the fabric that served as a makeshift shell. Vincent was glad he brought his coat, just in case.

The ride was terrible; Vincent was wedged between more people than he could count. They were more than shoulder to shoulder, due to the fact that one of the trucks had broken down even before anyone had gotten into it. Space had to be made, and Vincent was in the truck that just so happened to get the brunt of the extra Thirds. He was uncomfortable, shoved up against a few people he didn't even know, and much to his dismay, one of the snickering boys from his old squad was directly across from him. Bennet was his name, if Vincent recalled correctly, Leroy Bennet.

Bennet was talking loudly with some other teen Vincent had never seen before, while a few others across the bench chimed in every so often. The situation for Vincent, was far from an ideal one.

It was hard to hear with the rumble of the truck and the constant pound of the wind against canvas, but Bennet was apparently much more obnoxious, because Vincent could hear what he was saying just fine.

"Who would you do?" he asked, grinning stupidly at the boy seated on his right.

Bennet was a short, squat teen, with a jaw squared by his stint in puberty, and a mop of dirty, unwashed brown hair. As a SOLDIER he was mediocre, though he could throw a good, heavy punch. The thought made Vincent smile inwardly, as he remembered what Zack had said about lumberjacks.

"Out of the Firsts?" the other boy asked, the gleam in his eye suggestive.

"Yeah."

The boy giggled (which nearly made Vincent cringe), smiling a little too broadly so that even in the dimness Vincent could see how crooked and uneven his teeth were.

"Uh...well...that's kinda hard..."

"Hard being the key word," Bennet snickered, looking conspiratorially at the boys nearby, who laughed as if on cue.

"I'd fuck Sephiroth for sure," the boy said finally.

Vincent was glad that his black hair was covering his face, because he could feel himself flush from both embarrassment and an instant, flaring anger.

"Who wouldn't?" Bennet responded, with a sick grin. "I don't think you could reach, though," he added, laughing loud enough that it sounded shrill in the small area.

"Yeah, you'd be the one bending over," one of the other boys said, grinning as well. "Not that it would be such a bad thing..."

"Are you saying you want the General to give it to you up the ass?" Bennet accused, half-joking, half serious.

"It's not like anyone could give it to HIM up the ass," the other boy retorted.

"True...." Bennet was quiet for a moment, thankfully. But it didn't take long for him to start up again.

"I bet he and Angeal share Fair all the time," Bennet commented. "You know, one bitch for both the studs?"

Several of the other boys laughed, while Vincent's posture went rigid instantaneously. His fists clenched and his gaze grew steely underneath his shroud of shining, jet black hair. He felt traitorous for being within earshot, yet not openly protesting what was being said. Perhaps that was what spurred him into speaking.

"I bet none of you would have the guts to say what you just said to their faces," Vincent stated angrily, directing his words mainly at Bennet.

His voice had come out loud, and authoritative, something that surprised Vincent somewhat. He supposed he was just mad.

"Oh look, Hewley's new butt boy speaks," Bennet quipped, causing a few snorts from the other teens.

"He share you with Sephiroth too? They give it to you so good you bleed from your asshole?"

"Fuck you," Vincent said viciously, his maroon eyes suddenly alight with a burning fury. "The General...he doesn't even give a shit that you exist, neither does Commander Hewley, because they both know you'd make better living shields to take bullets, than SOLDIERs. As for Zack Fair, he is a better SOLDIER than you could ever even dream to be!" Vincent snarled, the boys next to him shrinking away a little from the pure rage that was emanating off of him.

"Wow, they really must be doin' you good!" Bennet answered, though his tone had lost a good amount of its former arrogance.

"Whatever," Vincent said quietly, looking away.

He was in no mood to talk to such a worthless human being. Bennet was beyond worthless for talking so horribly about people he didn't even know on a personal level. Sephiroth, Angeal, and Zack, didn't deserve that, not in the least.

Vincent felt sickened, and could still feel the anger burning a pathway through his veins.

The rest of the trip was rather uneventful, though Bennet and some of his cohorts gave Vincent the occasional cruel glare from across the truck.

The ride was bouncy and uncomfortable, particularly with so many bodies cramped into such a small area. Vincent endured it, trying not to think about what had been said earlier, though his mind seemed to enjoy torturing him with it regardless of what he wanted.

Finally, the boys piled out of the trucks in a typical disorderly fashion, tripping over one another and pushing in their rush to greet solid—not bouncing—ground.

The air was hot and dry, which Vincent hadn't been able to notice much in the chaos of the truck. Everywhere were small hills, and miles upon miles of desert sand.

The sun seemed to shine back from the ground, making the place overly bright. It was an instant thrumming headache for some of the older SOLDIERs who were mako-enhanced, wreaking pain and disorientation.

They were screamed at to fall in, which Vincent did, trying not to drag his feet over the sand from his cramped, sore muscles. They had been in the trucks, unmoving, for hours; to walk took effort.

"I am your Sargent for the next four days, kiddies," a uniformed man said, looking over the line of boys with an expression of distaste.

"Are you certain these aren't the regular infantry?" the man asked, glancing over at the large form of Commander Hewley, who had just come walking toward the group.

"They aren't as bad as they look," Angeal replied, stopping beside the man and laughing a little under his breath.

A lot of the boys seemed a little miffed by the evaluation, but Vincent only smiled quickly before returning to a vacant, though serious expression.

Commander Hewley had more or less just given the hint that he had confidence in the group, though many of the Thirds didn't know him well enough to take it as a compliment.

"My name is Jerry Richards, but you can call me Sargent Dick."

The man laughed briefly at his own joke, his eyes wrinkling at the corners, betraying his age. A few of the Thirds snickered, but most remained quiet.

"Anyway, welcome to Hell, also known as the desert. It's a tough place to fight, and even a tougher place to call home, which is why you've been brought here. Learning tactics in a new territory is a good lesson."

* * *

If there was a Hell, this certainly was it.

Vincent was covered in his own sweat, and could feel it dripping down from his hairline to his jaw line, where it pooled into bigger drops, then landed in the sand.

He was carrying his duffel over his shoulder, trudging along in the line of boys that stretched a good distance back, over a dune a ways away.

They were much more spaced apart now, though they were supposed to be keeping up with the person in front of them in the line.

The lesson was, according to Richards, a vital one. He had seen the pile of duffels, and grabbed a random bag, to test the weight. He had said that if anyone expected to survive the SOLDIER program, they needed to learn to not pack for a year like a bunch of teenage girls.

According to him, to learn the lesson properly, each boy should heave his bag over his shoulder and walk with it for a good measure through the hot desert sand. He claimed that it was through such a task that the boys would consider every item they put into their bag, rather than frivolously over packing it with items they didn't need.

Vincent was glad that he had kept his things to somewhat of a minimum, however, he was realizing that what he had packed was probably still far too much. His shoulder throbbed (the bag was a good 50 pounds because of all the equipment he was required to bring), and his lower back had begun to ache. He had to resist the urge not to slouch under the strain, because he knew if he did he would end up paying for it the next day.

"Ahh fuck, I can't carry this piece of shit any farther," one of the boys ahead complained, repositioning the bag over his shoulder.

"Yeah, well at least you probably didn't bring half your wardrobe like I did," one of the others responded.

When they finally came to a halt, they had doubled back to where they started, to be greeted by the overly-cheerful Sargent Richards. Having just come from inside an air conditioned tent, the man was not looking sweaty and red-faced like those in his charge.

"Nice day, don't you think?" he said, looking up at the clear blue sky, where the overbearing orb of a sun glared down at them from.

A few of the Thirds groaned, to which Richards only smiled cruelly.

"Guess what, kiddies? You have even more time to think on how much you packed. You're taking those packs with you wherever you go, 'cause I am not going to stand around babysitting your stuff."

Richards, who had a flare for the dramatic, let it wash over the tired teens for a good moment before beginning his explanation of what was to come.

Satisfied, he continued: "You have all been assigned to groups. You will not argue about your group. You will work with your group. You will depend on your group. You will defend your group. I don't care if you hate every last one of them, 'cause in this Hell hole, they are all you've got."

He walked a bit closer, his hands held behind his back. "You have also been given a group mission, which will be handed out shortly. You are not to discuss it with anyone outside your group, and you are to complete whatever task you are set, is that understood?"

The customary chorus of 'yes sir' echoed around.

"Now, you will be scored. You are also going to be timed, so make your plans quick and get out there."

Angeal, who had been absent, emerged from the tent that Richards had, with a stack of envelopes and a large chart held under his arm.

Richards sniffed, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. "So, let's get this party started."


	5. Even Hell Has Its Angels

**A/N:** 5700 words! Longest chapter yet. Thanks to **KT**, **OvenBased**, **whatevergirl**, **Kyuubi-ismy-homie**, and **minoki**, for reviewing! Seriously, reviews keep me going! Hearing that you like it is...the greatest thing. It makes me smile like a moron, which is a rare thing. :D I got this monster of a chapter out for all of you, so...hope you like it! We get ever closer to the smut! Though I fear it is a long way off.... Too much stuff has to happen first...(sigh). It's a shame, but it will be worth it in the end, hopefully, if I don't die of loss of patience trying to get there....

* * *

Vincent was in a group of seven, two of the boys looked familiar, though he had not ever been introduced to them.

One was Gavin Henderson, a blonde, seemed capable, though he was a little bossy. He had offered his hand up for Vincent and the others to shake, and had been rather formal about the entire process of introduction.

The other, was the one that stood out to Vincent. He was a sulking brunette, with a short crop cut and a duffel that looked quite heavy. He didn't talk much, but from what Vincent could see, the boy, Frank Douglas, did not look physically well. Though it was brutally hot out, the temperature soaring well over a hundred degrees, Douglas looked somewhat pale. His skin had a pasty quality to it that didn't appear to be anywhere near healthy.

They were making their way along in the sand, using a faulty navigation device that faded out at times, the screen running blank and forcing them to stop.

"Do you think it's broken?" Henderson asked, looking around at the group.

"It may be sandstorms," Vincent suggested.

Out in the distance, the dunes became blurry the further one looked. Even with the stagnant air around them, Vincent knew that conditions could change quickly in such a harsh environment, and that some of the haziness out on the hills could be caused by raging walls of misplaced sand.

"You think it's blocking out the signal?" Henderson asked.

"Might be. Dunno," one of the other boys, Brian Clark, responded, when Vincent remained quiet, his maroon eyes staring off at the sand-filled horizon.

"We should try to get a relative idea of where we're going; it looks like we might not be able to depend on that," Vincent said, looking to the GPS in Henderson's hands after he came to from his reverie.

"We're going that way," Clark said pointing, causing Henderson to roll his eyes and shake his head in complete disbelief.

"This is a desert. Do you realize how easily we could get lost out here?" Henderson retorted in exasperation, looking to the others to back him up.

Vincent stopped walking for a moment, dropping his duffel unceremoniously onto the scorching sand, and unzipping it. He dug around for a moment before finally pulling out a small metal compass.

"Well, I'm glad someone around here has brains," Henderson said, giving Vincent a grateful look. "It's amazing how when we go all high tech, we get so fucked over."

"When if we just kept things simple..." Vincent finished, holding the compass in the flat of his palm. "Which direction were the coordinates?"

"You mean straight there, or the projected path?" Henderson asked, as the others stood around quietly, not answering or showing any interest.

"Just straight there."

"Oh. Uh...I think it was... North east?" Henderson answered, looking down at the GPS again, only to realize that the screen had blacked out.

Vincent nodded. They would have to get there the old fashioned way: walk until they found the encampment they were searching for.

* * *

Sephiroth brought the motorcycle to a halt, sending up two sheets of yellow sand on either side of him. The wind tore his hair from its resting place on his shoulders, forcing it to stream behind him, while granules of sand brushed across his face, catching in his eyelashes and eyebrows.

He was late, but it was no bother; no one expected him.

He had come to observe the Thirds, as he had already disengaged himself from the mission that Genesis had wanted (a hostile takeover of a small base in a more rural part of Wutai). He had enough time to at least stay for several hours.

He was still feeling small pangs of guilt over his own dealings with Johns. He knew that many would be dismissed from the SOLDIER program during this activity. He thought that perhaps with his presence they might all feel reason to perform better, put in extra effort.

Though many thought he was oblivious of it, the General was more than aware of what he represented (he ignored it outright much of the time), and the abject hero worship some of the younger (and occasionally older) SOLDIERs bestowed upon him. He didn't like it—he didn't have to—but there were times when using it to its advantage proved beneficial.

For instance, before any large-scale mission, no matter how inconvenient, Sephiroth made certain to make an appearance, to prove that he would be right there with all of them, if not in body, then at least on a mental level.

Angeal had told him once that it put men at ease to know that they fought alongside him. At first he had not entirely understood, but during the past years after having so many throw themselves at his feet for his affections, he had begun to clearly see what it was that the SOLDIERs were searching for. They wanted a leader, not just a General, but something godlike, something that would watch over them like a guardian.

It was highly symbolic, in a way that Sephiroth personally found to be foolish. He was not invincible, but Shinra had gone to extreme lengths to make him appear to be so. Perhaps it was that idea of having something 'invincible' as a leader that made other SOLDIERs themselves feel a sense of invincibility, and also, a strong feeling of being protected.

Sephirothlooked into the bright sun for a moment, his sensitive pupils barely-there lines.

He could already feel an impending migraine looming.

* * *

It was about an hour in, and it felt as though they were no closer.

"Anyone notice how everything looks exactly the fucking same around here? I mean, I swear I've seen that cactus ten times before. You sure we aren't running around in circles or something?" Henderson asked, kicking at the sand with a boot.

"There would be prints," Vincent stated quietly, his dark red eyes darting back to the boy, Douglas, often. "There is not enough wind to cover them completely."

Douglas was not looking well at all. His steps had become more of a shuffle than anything else, and he seemed to be straining under his pack more than anyone else.

Earlier, Vincent had encouraged the boy to drink water, but Douglas had only taken a small sip before slinging his canteen back over his shoulder, mumbling that he didn't want to waste the only water he had.

Whatever was going on with the boy (Vincent suspected dehydration from the way Douglas's lips had a parchment-like texture to them), it was obvious that he would not be able to continue on much longer. It had likely been from carrying his bag around earlier that had allowed the dehydration to set in. Douglas must have neglected his canteen in favor of conservation at the most crucial time his body needed water.

What was odd, was that they had not run into a single fiend. Everything was quiet across the sands, except for the occasional sound of wind whipping through the small hills. There was a small, light wind, that had appeared about a half an hour ago. Its tendrils were almost heavenly as they tickled Vincent's face and darted through his sweat-soiled black hair.

"Guys..." Douglas murmured, slumping even more. "I'm not going to be able to go much longer..."

Vincent stopped next to the teen, letting out a long sigh. He had known it was going to be inevitable.

"Give me your pack," Vincent ordered lowly, after considering the situation for a second.

"But..."

"Just give it to me," Vincent said, knowing that he was going to be struggling along with the addition of another huge duffel over his shoulders.

The group, from what he had seen, was not the self-sacrificing type. He was the smallest in build, but he knew he was likely the only one who would offer to help Douglas.

The boy pulled the bag from his shoulder, visibly relieved. He helped lift it up onto Vincent's vacant side. With two bags, Vincent could already feel his aching back starting to protest from the additional weight. Douglas's pack must have weighed a good ten to fifteen pounds more than his own.

The other boys were quiet, but had stopped to watch. Henderson, was the first to speak:

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" he was glaring at Vincent, his blue eyes full of accusation. "If the kid falls behind, he falls behind."

"You heard Sargent Richards. We're a group. If he fails chances are Richards is going to consider it a group failure. I don't want to fail, do you?" Vincent stated flatly, his chest expanding with deep breaths as he prepared himself for the hell that was ahead.

Henderson, who still didn't look pleased, nodded curtly after seeming to think on it, his eyes wandering over to Douglas with a look of loathing. "Fine. Let's keep moving."

As Vincent thought, for the next half an hour, no one offered to take the weight from his shoulders.

* * *

Sephiroth was in a tall, high backed chair, watching the monitors with interest from inside the immense, cooled surveillance tent.

"Well, at least we know they won't all leave each other for the wolves," Richards said, taking a swig of brandy from a hunter green coffee mug.

"Vincent's a good kid; he wouldn't leave anyone behind," Angeal answered, shuffling through the large stack of documents in front of him.

"So, looks like group D was the only one that brought a compass. How charming," Richards smiled, glancing over at the General who was sitting in front of 10 monitors, intelligent green eyes moving from screen to screen, while deft gloved hands switched the frequency on the headset he was wearing.

"How long are you planning to leave the GPSs offline?" Angeal asked after a moment. He was still looking through his paperwork.

"Until the kiddies get it through their head that they can't always depend on computers to do all the work for them!" Richards replied in a barking laugh. "We'll give 'em a good hour without it, see what they make of it."

The General only smiled darkly from his corner, watching the satellite feed of Valentine towing around two bags over his shoulder, while a sickly-looking boy followed at his side.

Valentine was proving to be more than able to carry his own weight and then some, regardless of his shortcomings. He would make a good SOLDIER, that much was obvious to the General.

* * *

Douglas stumbled and briefly fell to the sand, his breathing coming out in uneven rasps. He crawled for a moment on his knees, before teetering back to his feet.

Vincent, who had seen the boy fall, had slowed to allow him to catch up. The other boys were a bit ahead of the two now, and hadn't noticed that anything was amiss (or possibly didn't care).

"Drink, Douglas," Vincent said, gesturing to the canteen strapped onto the boy's shoulder. "It's only going to get worse if you don't."

"I'll run out," he replied, nearly panting under the pressure of the heated light and reflective sand.

"What if we get stuck out here or something?" he whispered, taking a few shaky steps toward Vincent.

"Then I'll share my water with you."

"Really?"

"Yes. It's not like I'd let you die out here, Douglas," Vincent said incredulously, shaking his head so that his hair moved out of his line of vision, sticking wetly instead, to his temples.

"Hey!" Henderson called, jogging up to them, looking worried. "There's someone up ahead a ways, and it doesn't look like a friendly!"

"How far?" Vincent asked, his eyes skimming over the hills in the distance.

He was glad he was able to stop for a few seconds, because he was feeling the strain of carrying so much for such an extended period.

"Like a quarter mile, not far."

The other boys, who had all apparently selected Henderson as their leader for the time being, had slowly followed him over to Vincent and Douglas.

Vincent dropped one of the duffels down onto the sand, then the other. The loss of the weight was an extraordinary difference, but he did not have time to enjoy what it felt like to be freed of such an overwhelming burden.

He checked his belt, where a six inch blade was still attached, hidden in its thick leather sheath. All of the others had similar weapons as well, along with the customary short sword that each had on the opposite side from their knives. They had all been required to attach them to their belts before they began the assignment.

"So what, are we going to stop?" Henderson pressed, his eyes narrowing because Vincent had dropped the duffels.

"It's probably a test," Douglas said nervously, swallowing, and causing his aching, parched throat to hurt.

"Whoever it is, we should be ready for them, not stumbling around with 50 pound bags in the way," Vincent commented, more to himself than to the teens around him.

"So we're stopping, right?" Clark said eagerly, looking from Henderson to Vincent.

"Yes," Henderson said, though he looked skeptical.

Clark immediately dropped his pack onto the sand, followed by the others, who all sighed gratefully.

"It could be a patrol from the encampment," Vincent said, not allowing his worry to show.

According to the orders they had received, they were supposed to sneak up on a group of tents, and take a red flag without being seen or heard, so a patrol wouldn't be out of the question.

There would likely be a perimeter with sensors as well, which they would need to find and disable. The orders had said nothing about it, but Vincent guessed it would be the case, since perimeters were one of the main subjects discussed in his tactics class.

"We should just surround him and off him," Henderson suggested.

They were technically allowed to "off" someone, as long as they weren't seen doing it. The purpose of the exercise was stealth, which meant that they had to get rid of the threat before he was able to send a warning to back to the encampment. If he did manage to send warning, the assignment was considered a failure.

A few of the other boys nodded in agreement, but Vincent was not entirely convinced. He did not have time to think about it, however, as a resounding boom echoed through the landscape, overbearing and powerful enough to make Vincent flinch from its complete unexpectedness.

It took him a moment to register that was a gunshot, and another to realize that something wet had just been flicked across his face, from right eye to the lower left part of his jaw.

He stood, dumbfounded, fingers touching his face automatically. He gingerly withdrew them, then looked down at them, confusion apparent on his face.

His fingertips were covered in red.

Clark, who had been just off to his right, no longer had a head. His body was slumped over, laying on its side awkwardly. From the neck upward, was simply what could be described as 'gore'. There was no discernable head, skull, or anything else, just a skid mark of blood and brain matter and fractured bits of fragile skull, spewed across the sand like a chunky, bloody vomit.

One of the boys started screaming, the sound was shrill, so high pitched, that Vincent was snapped from his momentary stupor of shock and confusion.

He grabbed a stock-still Douglas by the uniform, and pulled him with him down onto the sand. "Get down!" he roared at the others, who seemed to all be staring down at the bloody mess, incapable of looking away. "Get down!!" he repeated again, more loudly.

He could feel Douglas shaking beside him in the hot, uncomfortable sand, the boy's breathing frighteningly shallow and panicky.

"It's just an exercise!" Douglas wailed, throwing his head into his arms. "It's just an exercise...it's just an exercise...just an...just a..."

"Quiet!" Vincent ordered sharply, latching onto Douglas's shoulder and squeezing hard.

Henderson had dropped to his knees, and was rocking back and forth, expression vacant, the other boys milling around him. One was crying, half bent, as he threw up violently onto the ground; another was still screaming like he was the one who had been shot, and the last one just ran like a prey animal, hurtling across the sand and not looking back.

Then the second shot rang out. Vincent could make out the spray of fresh blood, even from the distance, of the boy who had gone running. His body was thrown to the sand by the impact (a .50 caliber, Vincent assumed), painting the yellow dune he had been climbing, copiously with his lifeblood.

"Fuck!" Henderson screamed, getting up to his feet clumsily and starting to run.

"Henderson!" Vincent called out, "don't be stupid!"

But Henderson was not listening. He lost his head for it when the third shot boomed over the sand.

Vincent looked away, disgusted, feeling the bile rising in his throat. The nausea was instantaneous, starting from deep in his belly, then pushing its way forcefully into his chest, toward his mouth where he could already taste its vapors.

Henderson's body was similar to Clark's, but was much closer to Vincent this time, enough that he had seen it happen all too vividly.

Douglas had lost hold of himself, and was whimpering uncontrollably, his head buried protectively in his arms.

Vincent moved away from him, snaking across the horribly hot sand that burned his naked palms, and penetrated easily through the thick material of his uniform. He ignored it, as one of his hands shakily grabbed for the zipper on the duffel he had discarded.

He was behind his bag, and given the direction of the shots, couldn't be seen. There was also a small rise ahead of them that might be providing some cover, as both the crying boy and the other who was still screaming, hadn't been targeted. Vincent suspected because they were off to the left, they were concealed somewhat from the shooter.

Vincent knew Douglas was probably disguised by the bags too, so he pushed the boy from his thoughts, focusing on recalling everything he had ever been taught about snipers.

He yanked the clothes out of his bag, leaving them piled around him, as he blindly searched the bottom for the cold steel that had been part of the equipment he was required to bring. Upon finding the pieces, he crawled backward (still staying behind the duffels) to give himself space to work.

His hands were quaking so badly he knew it was going to be difficult to get the rifle assembled. It took awhile, but he got it done. Unfortunately it was only a single shot, bolt-action .30-06. Thirds weren't allowed fully-automated weapons except during times of war. The weapon was accurate, however, which Vincent had on his side.

He loaded it with five bullets, clicking the bolt forward. He tried to calm himself a little, as he cradled the gun under his right arm, and began to slowly make his way toward the dune ahead of him. If he could just get off to the side a little, while still being behind it, maybe he could get a shot at the sniper....

When he got as close to the edge of the mound as he dared, Vincent released a sigh. He completely ignored the two boys who were somewhere behind him now, sobbing violently, letting out whimpers and sniffling constantly. He wasn't sure if Douglas had gone quiet, or was crying with them.

He understood their plight, but refused to lay down and sob, when there was plenty that could be done about it.

Though Vincent had never been in a hostile situation before, he did have a bit of learning experience from his time in the standard military, where he had discovered his skill with guns. He also had his three months of time in SOLDIER behind him as well. He supposed he was better prepared than most would have been.

That calmed his nerves a bit, as he stared off through the scope, thankful that someone had been smart enough to make the outside lensenon-reflective to prevent it from gleaming and allowing the shooter to be spotted by enemies.

All he saw was sand and more sand. He tried to focus entirely on searching, not on the fact that there were three mangled corpses somewhere near by, their blood probably already drying from the hot sun.

One thing that did distract him, however, was the wind, which flew past the dune with such force that Vincent had to shut his eyes momentarily to keep them from being bombarded with sand.

He shook his head, feeling and hearing the grains of sand fall from his hair. He looked back into the scope, prowling over each area with slow precision, swallowing constantly to keep the bile out of his mouth.

He did not look long, when something grabbed his attention. He looked up for a minute, glancing over his shoulder. _What was that?_

There was a strange whirring coming behind him, very, very far away. It was so quiet that he at first had thought it was either his imagination, or some unaccounted for noise that he hadn't noticed before.

Vincent waited, now paranoid, and looking back constantly. It seemed to be growing louder, bit by bit, making an approach. It sounded like an engine, which made Vincent's strained body fill briefly with elation.

But just because it was an engine, didn't mean the person driving it was coming to his rescue. That was what was worrying.

He moved over to the left, shuffling on his elbows across the sand that was likely going to leave angry red burns across his skin. If he lived, that was.

He turned so he was facing in the direction of the sound, and focused his scope in on the sandy distance.

It took a few seconds for him to catch the silver gleam of the body of the vehicle, barely discernable even with the magnification. He squinted, his eyes watering from the sun that was making everything so horribly bright, as he tried to figure out what it was.

A motorcycle?

He swallowed. Some higher ranked SOLDIERs used motorcycles, he had heard, but that didn't mean that someone else couldn't have gotten a hold of one.

When it started to become clearer, he felt his gut lurch. Silver hair...long silver hair.

Vincent let out a sigh of complete relief, nearly edged with a helpless whimper. What was the General doing out in the middle of the desert? He had to be coming for them, there was no other explanation....

Perhaps they would survive this after all.

Vincent's thoughts of making it out alive, quickly turned to unadulterated panic. The sniper! What if the sniper shot at Sephiroth?

Vincent wretched his sore body back the other way, hastily focusing on the sandy hills. He had to find the sniper.... He had no way to warn the General that he could end up getting shot. They weren't even given radios for the assignment (they were supposed to operate completely independently), or they would have called in a long time ago and asked for back up.

He had a brief thought, wondering how the General knew where they were, or even that they were in trouble, and again, why the General was in the desert for the Third's training anyway.

_He must know something has gone wrong_, Vincent thought, _why else would he be here_?

He could feel anxiety gnawing holes in his former composed state. He had to find the shooter....

He searched again and again, the movements almost frantic, looking for _anything_, the slightest movement, a sign of something out of place. Yet Vincent could find nothing. He let out a cry of frustration, the anxiety twisting his insides painfully. If the General got hurt, or...died....it would be all his fault.

Vincent didn't feel quite himself. He felt almost temporarily insane, his thoughts weaving in and out through the various scenarios, the paranoia making all of them seem possible, making him feel responsible....

The motorcycle was so close, that when Vincent stole a glance to his left, he could distinctly make out the form of the General on the bike, and see the spray of sand being spit out the back end.

"Sephiroth!" he yelled, knowing that the man probably wouldn't be able to hear him, enhanced hearing or not.

Much to his surprise, however, he could just see the stoic face as it turned to him.

Then there was the shot. It was so loud and deafening, that Vincent's ears buzzed from it, as it traveled over the sand and between the dunes.

Time seemed to stop. Vincent was beyond panic, until he realized that time had stopped, at least for the General.

A force field, blue-hued and murky, rounded over Sephiroth and his motorcycle. It was so bright that it hurt to look at. The bullet, which had come hurtling toward Sephiroth, was instantaneously fractured as it hit the shield, exploding from its gunpowder and leaving a small cloud of fire in its wake that quickly dispersed over the moving bike.

The whole glowing mass went crystalline, as the smoke from the gunpowder rose in a rushed flurry from behind.

It was through the clarity, that Vincent could tell that Sephiroth was complete unhurt. It made his emotions soar for a moment, as he watched the motorcycle advancing toward a dune.

In one elegant motion, a blue slash was flicked from Masamune over the right side of the bike, and was sent flying toward a nearby mound of sand.

The dune exploded in a cloud of hazy granules, as another blue streak moved through the chaos with deadly certainty directly after the former. It was the second that sent up a distinct red cloud of misplaced blood, mixing in with the plume of yellowed sand.

The sniper, whoever it was, was dead.

Vincent let out a shaky breath. Apparently the General didn't need anyone's help. He suddenly felt extremely foolish for thinking that one sniper could be the death of the legendary Sephiroth.

His raging body seemed to calm quite a bit, upon the realization that the man was okay. The thought of Sephiroth dying was somehow very difficult for Vincent to think about.

The bike made a sharp turn, sending up a wall of sand, as it came back toward the group of fallen Thirds.

Vincent allowed his tense body to slouch down into the sand. Every part of him seemed to ache from the sudden easing of tension, as he waited for the General to get to them.

The motorcycle slowed, then came to a complete stop, only ten feet from Vincent.

Sephiroth, whose posture looked stiffer than usual, easily climbed off of the bike, his sea green eyes going first to Vincent, then to the others who were huddled and wide-eyed.

He looked down briefly at the grotesque bloody mess that used to be Henderson, then to the body of Clark, his eyes betraying nothing. He was as collected as ever, except for the stiffer posture.

"Private Valentine," he said quietly, nearing the boy who was still crouched on the ground.

"I'm so glad you're here," Vincent managed, trying to fight the onslaught of thankfulness that had just blossomed in his chest.

He could feel tears prickling at the corners of his eyes, but he did not allow them to fall. The last thing he needed to do was look like a wreck in front of the man who had just saved his life.

"I didn't think anyone would even know what happened," Vincent confided.

"We tracked some strange movements. Another group was attacked right before yours," Sephiroth stated tonelessly, walking closer.

"Are they alright?" Vincent asked. He had so many things he wanted to question the General about, but he held back.

"I do not know. I came here directly; Angeal went for the others."

Sephiroth was watching Vincent intently, his green eyes assessing.

"You did well."

Vincent looked down at the ground a moment, again feeling the horrible sensation of tears beginning to build up behind his eyes. He finally managed to look back up at the confusing, cat-like eyes, only to find that they had lost a bit of their edge. There was...compassion? The mental wall seemed to have crumbled a bit, leaving behind a crack that was big enough for Vincent to peer through. What he saw there was inexplicable pain, and a shroud of protective numbness, cottony and packed around whatever was inside to prevent damage from befalling it.

But within an instant, the hole was sealed off, the mental barrier full strength again, as the General spoke. It was as though Vincent had imagined it, and later when he thought back on it, he would doubt what he had seen in those eyes.

"A truck is coming soon; all of you will be taken back to base," Sephiroth said, businesslike.

He turned away from Vincent, and made his way over toward the others, who were in various states of shock, both from what had happened, and from seeing their esteemed General.

The General was colder and much more curt as he spoke to the others.

Vincent watched on, feeling so out of body and disoriented. He was halfway between crying and screaming, or better yet, finding a dark corner to sink into and hide in.

He did not bother to get to his feet, but instead sat in the sand, taking large gulps of disgustingly warm water from his canteen.

Sephiroth seemed to have finished talking to the three boys, not consoling them or reassuring them the way Angeal would, but his presence was enough that they seemed to be making an effort to pull themselves together.

Douglas was the worst, babbling incoherently and stumbling around. It might have been partially to do with the dehydration, as well as the shock of what had happened.

Vincent finally moved to get up, unaware the General was watching him. He picked his gun up off of the ground, then pulled back the bolt to get at the bullets he had loaded. He then started taking it apart again, feeling the incredible tiredness starting to sweep over him, smothering like the sun was, overwhelming.

He focused on the gun, even though he felt himself sway slightly. He must be coming off of the adrenaline, he thought, steadying himself. He started putting all the parts back into his duffel, along with the clothes he had carelessly tossed onto the sand in his earlier rush.

The General's shadow loomed over him, blocking out the sun. Vincent grew very still suddenly, feeling almost trapped as he looked at the outline of Sephiroth splayed across the sand in front of him.

"Are you okay, Private Valentine?" Sephiroth enquired, his voice low enough that only Vincent would be able to hear him.

Vincent let out a noisy breath. "Yeah, I think I'll be alright," he said, somewhat uncertainly.

He was completely taken aback that the General had asked him. He could feel his breathing increase in rate when the shadow did not move away immediately.

"In this world, it is only the strong who survive, or those who are intelligent enough to block out that which they could not otherwise accept."

Vincent couldn't help himself, and looked back at Sephiroth, his maroon eyes shielded from the sun by the man's shadow. He felt small and helpless crouched upon the ground, the tall figure of the General seeming overwhelmingly large standing above him that way.

The green eyes were intense, secretive as always, and the face gave nothing away.

He struggled, looking up at that composed coolness, wishing that he were able to do exactly as Sephiroth did, to follow the advice he had just willingly offered, but some part of him _knew_ he was not yet ready. He was not detached enough to cut himself off from everything that made him human...he couldn't.

He let out a sob, feeling the tears start to run down his cheeks. Cursing himself, he turned his face down and away from Sephiroth's, but knew it was too late: the man had perfect hearing and had at least heard the sob, if not seen the tears. For some reason, the first thing that came to his mind was that the General was going to think he was just like all of the others.

Vincent wiped his eyes hurriedly, then stood, still not allowing the General to look at him, as he tried to compose himself.

"It will take time," Sephiroth said in a whisper.

Something about the tone of the man's voice made Vincent turn back to him, regardless of the emotions that were running openly down his own face.

The General looked sad, regretful even.

Somehow the fact that even the strongest, most legendary SOLDIER could be sad, made Vincent's chest ache painfully. A few more tears rolled down his face, dripping off of his chin.

"I—" Vincent couldn't seem to figure out what he wanted to say, so he finally decided to say nothing, feeling his skin heat in shame from the stream of tears that were falling at normal intervals now.

Why did he have to be like this, in front of Sephiroth, of all people?

"It is shock, Private Valentine. It will fade away soon," Sephiroth said, tone back to coldness again, though his face had a more softened expression.

_What must it be like to be so damn controlled?_ Vincent thought.

"I'm sorry, sir," Vincent apologized quietly, looking down at the sand so that the General wouldn't have to deal with his crying.

And he was sorry. He was sorry that there was anybody in the world, particularly the silver-haired man in front of him, who had to sever all emotional responses and stay strong, because the rest of the world was far too weak to stand on their own. They had to use people like the General to keep themselves standing, and Sephiroth had to suffer for it.

And here he was, just another burden, just another person clinging onto Sephiroth when the world was crashing down all around.


	6. Revelations

**A/N:** Next update might be late (by a day), just so you know.

Thanks to **whatevergirl**, **minoki**, **Tiny Koala**, **Corncob**, and **KT** for reviewing! (That line is getting old; I need to come up with something new). And thanks for mentioning pace, **Tiny Koala**, because I've noticed that I bog things down a bit too---I'll try to keep an eye on it. Anyway, I'm thrilled that people are still liking this story! :)

As for why I need reviews...let me put it to you all this way, if you didn't review, I would be very,very sad. You make my boring days all wonderful, and you make me run over to my computer every morning like Jaws to flailing human swimmers....

The differences with Hojo are explained in this chapter, so if you get confused or have a question about all of that, feel free to ask.

* * *

The room was cold, hollow. There was something about its mechanical nature, its pungent smell of chemical cleaners and antiseptics that was a catalyst for a depressed state of mind.

Sephiroth barely noticed. He had long grown accustomed to the scent that was too harsh for his sensitive nose and the too-bright, intrusive lights that were lit up seemingly everywhere, more obnoxious than the sun on a cloudless day. It was all part of Hojo's need to feel completely in control, and all too revealing his apathetic nature.

The light was ugly, making Hojo's pale, somewhat wrinkled skin, look even more unhealthy. It danced over the man's thick, rounded glasses, as he moved about in that almost lazy, slouching way of his.

"We will be upping the dosage this time," Hojo said with a twisted smile, his eyes twinkling with internal malevolence.

Sephiroth said nothing, looking more bored than blank, simply because he knew it bothered the man more than anything to be ignored.

Hojo's fall from grace had not affected his pride or God Complex in the least, if anything, it had been quiet the opposite, fueling his insanity to new immoral heights.

Shinra had not had any problems with Hojo's experiments, more or less feigning ignorance and allowing Hojo to have free reign as Director of the Science Division. Hojo was appreciated for his...lack of caution. It gave him renown amongst onlookers, while simultaneously alienating him from legitimate scientists who did not share his...enthusiasm for using human test subjects rather than animals, even when his experiments were, at times, mere hypotheses not backed by anything besides biased intuition.

It had gone on for a long time that way, Hojo the toast of Shinra's Science Division, heavily overshadowing what Hojo called "meager and pathetic" attempts made by Hollander to raise his own fame.

But reports had gotten out. Someone had infiltrated the Science Division, leaking feeds of half-human, half-beast test subjects among other revealing details. Shinra had nearly been crippled by the discovery, and hastily fired Hojo, claiming to the public that they had been "completely unaware of the inhuman experiments being conducted on the base", and that "they were appalled by what had been discovered". With a few billion dollars thrown in the direction of all major news channels, the tide had quickly turned.

What had first appeared to be the blame of not only the mad scientist Hojo, but Shinra itself, became one-sided. Suddenly Hojo was the abuser of power, doing unethical experiments in his free time, bribing and threatening fellow scientists to keep it from getting out. Shinra was the victim, the corporation that was there to help the people, but had been "sadly disillusioned by Hojo" and "disgusted by the experiments that had happened completely without the company's knowledge".

The lawsuit that followed, had not made it to bloom. Hojo had "disappeared" before he could go before a jury.

Shinra no longer had connection to the scientist, crowning Hollander as the new Director of the Science Division. It was forgotten about quickly enough, and talk of the mad scientist Hojo died out eventually.

It was the smaller competitive companies that were now hosting Hojo. The man went to the highest bidder, encouraged more than ever to discover new things and create new weapons, both biological and otherwise. Word of his whereabouts never seemed to get around for some reason....

Sephiroth hated the man, but he did not trust Hollander any better. Hollander, though more stable than Hojo, craved fame at nearly the same level, and had always---for reasons the General did not completely understand—shown a strong dislike of him.

Hojo—though he would be much better off with Masamune impaled through his chest, Sephiroth thought bitterly—knew more about the mako than Hollander did. He kept Sephiroth healthy, for a price, of course. It did not matter; Sephiroth had more money than he could ever possibly require.

He still did not understand exactly why Hojo agreed to continue treating him, though he knew it likely had to do with scientific interest, and in a way, outdoing Hollander by being involved with the mako injections of the best SOLDIER Shinra had to offer, even if it was anonymous to most. Or it was just the money. Whatever the reason, there were many more treatments now besides the mako injections (which he rarely received). Hojo may have been inexperienced and foolish at times, but he was keeping the General relatively sane.

For now, Sephiroth would tolerate him, because he had no other options. Hojo knew too much about him already, and the last thing Sephiroth wanted was for more scientists to know of his wavering sanity and constant raging aggression that was almost palpable. There were too many complications, too many secrets, and though Hojo was the very last person Sephiroth wanted inside his head, he knew that the man was rife with his own secrets and far too paranoid and selfish to discuss his work with others.

Shinra overlooked Sephiroth's brief disappearances, more or less aware of where he went. Angeal, however, did not overlook them. He greatly disapproved, often concerned when Sephiroth was gone longer than usual. He knew that Hojo was not half so kind as Hollander was on his 'subjects'. Hojo had no scruples, which for someone as honorable as Angeal, made the scientist downright evil. Angeal had little understanding of why Sephiroth would willingly leave the base to seek treatments from Hojo, and Sephiroth preferred to keep it that way, even if his friend strongly was opposed to it.

Genesis, on the other hand, never commented on any of it, though Sephiroth suspected that there might be a hidden jealousy underneath the redhead's silence on the subject.

The needle delved beneath the skin roughly, as Hojo often was disposed to. Sephiroth had his fist clenched to make the lines of his veins more visible, the strap of the chair digging into his wrist from the increase in the tension of his arm.

He could feel the effects instantaneously, the way his controlled mind seemed to begin to detatch slightly. It was like entering another form of consciousness, one where he was less aware of the outside, and far more aware of himself.

He could feel the strap, feel each breath through his nostrils, smell that smell that was distinctly Hojo, like unwashed hair and soiled clothes, then that powerful, enigmatic whiff of blood, probably from residual drops on the man's lab coat.

Hojo was taking notes erratically, his hand moving across the paper so fast it made Sephiroth's distorted reality dizzy, shifting as though made of moving water. He looked away from the hand, blinking a few times. He did not like this feeling, the lack of control, of inhibition. It was nearly worse than the constant anger that always remained above his mind, clouding it, poisoning it.

So many drugs, so many problems to fix. The strength almost wasn't worth it. He knew he could live without the treatments, but not without drastically changing his moods to the point where he would have even less control than he currently did. It was a thin line, easy to tumble over without knowing it.

He was a murderer through and through, a harvester of souls....

But he was also a SOLDIER, and he would not let his less...admirable traits get in the way of being the leader he was required to be.

* * *

It had been four days.

Four days since Vincent saw three boys die, their bodies landing lifelessly in the yellow sand, blood splattered in testament.

He squinched his eyes shut, and rubbed his face in his hands.

One would think that it would be dreams of the dead that Vincent would wake up to. Though half of them were frightening scenes replayed in his dreams, there were others....

Vincent wanted to groan, but it was late, and all of the other boys were fast asleep in their bunks. Sid Troy, the boy that was on the bunk above Vincent, was snoring even more noisily than he regularly did, probably from the day of intensive training. Vincent wouldn't know; he had been dismissed from training for a week and was only going to tutoring sessions with Angeal and Zack, when they were able to set time aside for him.

The darkness was permeable due to the annoying flickering outside light that glared in through the small, desolate window. Someone must have forgotten to shut it off. The bulb was probably going out, because the light faded at regular intervals and was thankfully dimmer than usual.

He couldn't get it out of his head. If he had been alone he might have screamed out in frustration and thrown something. Vincent was not one to so easily loose his temper, however, there were certain things that got under his skin more than others, and made it seem almost enjoyable to find some sort of catharsis.

Would it ever stop?

He could feel his cheeks heat in the semi-darkness. He sighed, trying to ignore the tingling that he didn't seem to want to acknowledge under any circumstances.

It was bad enough that he'd turned into an emotionally weak, sniveling thing in front of the General...

What was worse, was that each night since then, he'd had dreams filled with someone touching him, hands running pleasantly up his sides, almost comfortingly. They were always slow and methodical, pressing into his stomach, almost massaging, so appreciative of each part, before moving down to his thighs....

And then there was the mouth, which he didn't want to think about.

It was always so dark in the dreams, nearly black. He was always laying on his back, in some unknown place, and could just discern elegant, long-fingered hands that came out of the shadows to smooth over his skin.

And the mouth....

Vincent felt his face redden even more, and let out a very quiet sigh of embarrassment.

It had taken a few times before it had happened, before he finally realized who was lurking just out of his vision, torturing him nightly, and eventually whispering dirty things into his ear, moist breath feeling far too perfect, yet far too sinister....

What had started out as a comforting dream of someone touching him lovingly, hadn't seemed sexual...at first. Even though he was naked, there was a sense of trust, like a soft cloud, pillowing him while he was off in that world. Like he _knew_ he would be okay, that whoever it was meant him no harm.

The fact that the figure was male, hadn't even entered into the equation. It had been simply about being adored, even if it was just physically, and not even in a sexual way. He had gotten some sort of consolation from it, and had never stopped to consider that the hands were too large to be those of a woman, or too studied to be that of any normal person....

He dreamed it more than once a night now, and it had changed, abruptly. Those hands were still as attentive as ever, but there was a new distraction.... Warm, wet kisses, starting from his ankles, then slowly moving upward, until he was clawing at the silken sheets beneath him, pushing up at whatever was there, offering himself freely, yet with silent demand.

And then finally, finally, the mouth....

Vincent turned over on his small, narrow bed, trying to pretend that he wasn't having the reaction he was, just from thinking about it. He wanted to cry, because he was so angry with himself, angry that he was dreaming such things, and about someone who had saved his life no less...the General, who had to put up with the constant (and likely irritating, Vincent decided) hero worship.

The General, who was nice enough to show a little bit of compassion, even when Vincent was falling to pieces and likely never deserved even the slightest comfort in the first place. He was supposed to be a SOLDIER, the best, not some fresh new meat that couldn't take a little death and blood.

It was the previous night that he had been allowed to see the face.... The soft, luxurious hair had been trailing over his legs, moving as that head moved, until light touched the pale skin, strange green eyes glinting lustfully, with the beautiful pink mouth that gave an amused, yet aroused smile.

_Sephiroth_, he had thought in the dream, both overwhelmed with happiness, yet suddenly painfully shy about being so exposed in front of someone who was themself, exquisite perfection.

He had awoken tangled in his thin, scratchy blankets, right after that smiling mouth had....

Vincent squeezed his pillow in his fist.

He was so furious with himself. Why was he letting this happen? The General certainly didn't need yet another stupid teenage boy obsessing over him.

Vincent wasn't even sure what it all meant. Comfort yes, but why had it become so sexual? And why of all people, did it have to be not only a man, but the General Sephiroth?

It was likely a side effect of stress, intertwined with Vincent's already soaring respect for the General. The two, he guessed, must have become interrelated, and he was seeing the General as a sort of 'port in a storm'. Hopefully it wasn't any sort of sexual attraction, just a desire to be liked by the man, appreciated, as well as comforted....

Vincent almost couldn't stand it any longer; he was on his stomach, trying not to shift and further arouse himself. It was typical teenaged hormones, he knew, which could also explain the directions the dreams had taken. But why did it have to be so insistent? He supposed he should count himself lucky that it hadn't come at an awkward moment, but late in the night when he was somewhere he could deal with it.

He didn't want to deal with it, not really. He wanted to go back to sleep and forget that it was there, pushing into the mattress. But that would mean that it would be even more likely for it to happen at an inopportune moment.

_Better now, than later,_ he thought, as he let his right arm snake underneath him with a sigh that was both of longing and edged with annoyance.

He was still clumsy at it; he had not exactly been given heaps of spare time to stand around feeling different body parts. Not to mention, he was never all that inclined anyway, more often too tired, or just not in the mood, though being aroused physically seem to happen spontaneously and constantly regardless of how he felt about it.

He tried to stay as quiet as possible, breathing a little heavier into his pillow, his eyes half closed. His other hand was rubbing down across his stomach, caressing the areas that felt more sensitive.

He concentrated on nothing but the feeling of being enclosed in his own hand, his maroon eyes looking but not seeing the wall in front of him.

His lack of thought didn't last for long though, as his eyes, seemingly of their own accord, drifted over to the partially illuminated photos on the wall, the ones that the other boys had tacked up, likely for reference while doing exactly what Vincent was doing.

Vincent's breathing stopped its laboring for a moment, as he caught sight of the recruiting poster. His hands paused in their ministrations, as his eyes flicked over that image, the one that seemed to stand out amongst all the others, the eyes that seemed to see him through the paper, penetrating, _knowing_....

Damn that outside light; if it had been dark he wouldn't have been able to see it.

Vincent let out a strangled moan, turning his head away and trying not to look, as he abruptly stroked himself again, though a little rougher than he normally would have preferred.

He didn't need to be reminded.

Unfortunately for him, his body seemed to like the reminder, because he was suddenly much more aware of the movements of his hands.

The position on his stomach was somewhat awkward, so he had to lift his hips up slightly to do what he needed. This also meant that instead of just laying there listlessly, he was actually thrusting somewhat.

He was already nearly there, though he was more frustrated than pleased about it, because flashes of his earlier dream were plaguing him all because of the stupid poster.

He could see that almost angelic face, the long, perfect silver hair that dropped over the broad, bare shoulders, and the wonderful mouth that he was completely lost inside, all because it was so warm and wet and demanding....

He had almost no warning as he came, trying not to gasp, trying not to shift too abruptly and make the squeaky mattress groan from his movement.

It was perfect, so perfect.

He hated it.

* * *

Sephiroth's look was murderous. There was a flashing to his eyes that suggested an underlying rage that was barely being contained.

"Three SOLDIERs were killed on a training mission," Sephiroth stated flatly, trying to quell the bubbling irritation and desire to unsheathe Masamune. "And you would station them in wastelands of Wutai to control a hostile faction? These are the same people who likely ordered it done," he added, glowering at the suits who looked more or less bored by the conversation, but also very disinterested in being the brunt of Sephiroth's anger.

Whatever Hojo had done to him was having the adverse effect. He could nearly feel the fury pumping through his veins. It was as though emotion was suddenly all he knew; it was bearing down on him and nearly crushing his self control.

"As you well know, General, we have quite a shortage of Firsts. There is no other option currently. The faction has already been repressed, now it is just a matter of keeping the peace," President Shinra consoled, though he had that familiar look of disapproval.

"I'm sure," Sephiroth replied, keeping all traces of his feelings from his voice (it would not do to come off as hotheaded about the issue), though it still came off sounding sarcastic, even when said monotonously.

"I assure you, things will be fine. I already have the Turks working on the training incident; they will discover its source."

Sephiroth did not answer, knowing that again, they would not see reason. He also knew that if he spoke he would not be able to keep himself the illusion of calm. He was nearly shaking with rage, which was both frightening yet disgustingly satisfying. Nothing that six hours in the simulation room couldn't solve....

It was idiocy; SOLDIERs were clearly being targeted, yet Shinra was still willing to send a large group of Seconds and Thirds into hostile territory.

Though the name 'SOLDIER' was enough to send most populations to their knees, the Wutai had proved not only surprisingly resourceful, but defiant. They were even, rumor had it, sheltering the group AVALANCHE. It was obvious that they were willing to go to great lengths to show their 'distaste' for Shinra.

Killing lower ranked SOLDIERs was likely just another message, another way to cause discord, to strike the enemy where it was weakest, so to speak.

There was no telling what could happen when the faction discovered that the puppies had been sent to guard them simply because there was a shortage of wolves.

Sephiroth could sense disaster in the near future. It was palpable, impending. It could not be denied.

* * *

**A/N:** Anyone else think that Vincent Valentine masturbating while trying not to think of Sephiroth, is dead freakin' sexy? 'Cause I do.... :D


	7. Seeking Solace

**A/N:** I apologize if there are mistakes in this; I'm very, very tired, but decided to keep on schedule for all of you.... Thanks to everybody who reviewed! :D That would be: **whatevergirl**, **Kyuubi-ismy-homie**, **Luna**, **Tiny Koala**, **minoki, **and **KT**! As you know by now, reviews make me happy! I never get sick of them, keep them coming! That's the reason I gave you guys this chapter even when I was dead tired. I feel all guilty if I neglect everyone.

* * *

Sephiroth was a mess, but the simulator seemed to have taken the worst of it, as lines sparked, and beeps of malfunction sounded from the nearby machines.

The world had faded away completely, looking so real for so long, but returning back to its base, its mechanics; it was but a fantasy. A room that played tricks.

Sephiroth, rarely one to get winded, was breathing shallowly, his normally immaculate hair turned slightly stringy at his scalp from all the sweat that had dripped from his pours. The silver strands were rebellious and tangled, falling over his shining pauldrons in wayward locks.

Angeal, the one who had switched off the simulation, was standing over toward the corner. His large, muscled arms were crossed over his chest like he was about to scold someone, though his expression was filled with concern.

Sephiroth only looked at him, some of the impassiveness leaving his features, most particularly his eyes.

"What are you doing?" The words sounded accusatory, yet were at the same time, full of worry.

"Training," Sephiroth said simply, giving a small smile to make a point.

Angeal frowned, walking closer to Sephiroth, who did not move from his place, but only observed his friend with interest.

"You mean trying to train to breaking point..." Angeal stated, taking in Sephiroth's disheveled appearance in a smooth glance. Then more gently, "Why do you have to do this Seph?"

It was only when they were completely alone that Angeal ever called him "Seph". Sephiroth had never been entirely fond of the nickname, but he allowed Angeal to use it, never once telling the man that he did not like it.

"I—" For once, Sephiroth seemed at a loss for words, looking away from Angeal and toward the smoking machinery, sea green eyes flitting around in thought. He let out the breath he had been holding, shaking his head.

"I heard," Angeal said quietly, already aware of what his friend was going to say. "I went and talked to President Shinra myself. Convenient that they left me out of the meeting, don't you think?"

Sephiroth let out a bitter laugh, staring down at the sword in his hand. The metal was so cold, even after the hell he had put it through.

He was relaxing from Angeal's presence. He could feel that incredible tenseness easing from his shoulders, because he knew that Angeal was the one man that would never jump on a sign of vulnerability, especially in a friend. If anything, it caught Angeal's attention, and brought out his more empathetic nature.

Sephiroth decided to voice his thoughts to the one man that would never use them against him. Though he often felt it was weakness to seek out compassion, he allowed himself the rare privilege of being just like everybody else for a change.

"There is no such thing as 'peace' in Wutai. The younger SOLDIERs are more vulnerable than they seem, and would not be able to hold up were an uprising to occur."

Sephiroth could already feel some sort of easing on his battered conscience, just from saying it all aloud. Angeal's softened expression made it much easier.

"I know..." Angeal answered, looking sad, his eyes somewhat glazed.

It was quiet for a long moment, as Sephiroth continued to look down at Masamune and Angeal watched Sephiroth.

"It's not a crime to be upset, Sephiroth," Angeal finally said, releasing a sigh of concern. "It worries me that you stay so distant, especially when I know there is so much going on in that head of yours."

Sephiroth glanced over at him, again shaking his head. "If only you knew..." he said enigmatically, letting out a forced laugh.

Angeal smiled lightly in return, taking a few steps forward almost restlessly. The puppy must have been rubbing off on him.

He seemed to consider his words for a minute before finally speaking.

"You know, Zack likes you quite a bit. He thinks you're a little too stiff, of course," Angeal chuckled in effort to set the mood, "but he's starting to get used to you."

"Hm. I suppose he would," Sephiroth replied, with a half smile.

He continued to look down at Masamune, his own green eyes reflecting back at him from the metallic surface of the sword, distorted by its shape.

"How is Valentine?" Sephiroth asked, finally, his thoughts returning to the Thirds, particularly Private Valentine, because they had been speaking about Zack.

Angeal seemed a little taken aback by the question, but he answered quickly nonetheless: "He's fine. I think he's a little shaken, but he's toughing it out better than most would."

"And the others?" Sephiroth said, almost out of custom rather than concern.

"Well, Douglas was released from the Med Center yesterday, clean bill of health after the dehydration got cleared up. The other one, Franklin, I think, is getting counciling." Angeal didn't say anything, for a second, letting out a sigh. "The last one went back home."

Sephiroth nodded, not exactly surprised by the outcome of the traumatic training assignment.

Sephiroth looked as though he was about to speak, but he hesitated, seemingly trying to decide if he wanted to say what he was about to say. Perhaps it was whatever Hojo had given him, or maybe he was just feeling more trapped than ever, because he confessed what he had been thinking to Angeal:

"I may have been a little harsher on all of them than I should have been," Sephiroth stated, looking Angeal directly in the eye, finally.

Angeal nodded, contemplating. "They all got spoken to after it happened; the doctors took care of it. I doubt that you would have said anything to them besides what they needed to hear at the time."

Sephiroth stared down at the floor, letting out a sigh. "I forget at times that I once was in their same position. It seems so long ago, as if it never happened."

"No one blames you, Sephiroth. I know why you are what you are, and I know that you do what you must to keep this place up and running. If we went easy on them they would be far more likely to die," Angeal reflected, picking his next words slowly.

"I try to remember that when it comes to Zack.... If we don't force them to get to their full potential, the fault is our own. Getting emotionally involved on any level is dangerous. It not only puts them at risk, but ourselves. I know that's why you feel you have to be so distant. To tell you the truth, I'm glad that you are. Someone needs to be around to remind the rest of us that this is life and death we're talking about. There's no room for being overly compassionate, even if we want to be at times...." Angeal stopped, running a hand through his hair and letting out a breath.

Sephiroth's gaze had lost its edge, and for the first time in a long while, he let his guard fall away, shedding it as swiftly as blood.

"Thank you, Angeal. For some reason, to hear someone else say it...." Sephiroth smiled sadly, moving Masamune in his hand, before returning the blade to his back.

"You know that I am always here to help you," Angeal said with an encouraging smile.

* * *

Vincent made his way into the familiar training building, heading for one of the rooms to get in some extra practice time.

Commander Hewley had recently cleared Vincent's card for access to three different training rooms, just in case one of the rooms he needed to use was occupied.

Vincent took one of the longer hallways this time, going to the room he'd never used before, simply to change things up.

His skills with the sword were already improving drastically; time with the Commander was much more beneficial than most of his group classes were. Instead of standing around fighting his peers and trying to gauge his own weaknesses, when he fought with Commander Hewley, the man was watching his every movement, and by the end of a short spar he would be able to tell Vincent exactly what he needed to work on to better his skills.

Commander Hewley had also begun to teach him better hand-to-hand combat, which Vincent had found came to him more easily than swordplay.

He slid in the card key, causing the door to click open.

He pushed his way inside, shoving his card back into one of the pockets of his uniform, not even bothering to look up as he took a few steps forward.

"Who gave you permission to use this room?" a voice breathed, sounding overworked.

Vincent froze in surprise, maroon eyes darting up and looking through the pieces of black hair that seemed to perpetually fall across his face.

The man in red. Genesis Rhapsodos.

His red hair was parted neatly, stark against his black pauldrons, but blending in with his similarly colored coat. He held a long, reddish broadsword in his rust-colored, gloved hand, his posture having grown rigid from the intrusion. A fighting bot lay decimated next to the man's black boots, its metal shredded and wires exposed.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know someone was using this room, sir," Vincent said apologetically, already turning to leave so that he would not irritate the man.

"I asked you a question, SOLDIER." The tone wasn't friendly; it nearly sounded hateful. It made Vincent stop where he was.

"Commander Hewley, sir," Vincent answered, looking over his shoulder.

He was glad that he was able to keep his voice from wavering. Genesis did not look happy, and the admission didn't appear to be helping matters any, as the man's next words clearly showed.

"Oh really? Why would that be?" Genesis asked, his voice turning to mocking. There was a sardonic smile on his lips that looked almost evil.

"Extra training, sir."

Genesis nodded, his eyes tracking over Vincent appraisingly. The look would have been similar to one Vincent had seen Sephiroth give him, except that this one appeared to be much less well-intentioned.

"Come here," Genesis said after a moment, the decision impetuous. He was still smiling in that twisted way.

"Sir?" Vincent questioned, instantly suspicious. Something about the way the man looked at him wasn't entirely right.... It was almost...evil.

"You came to spar, right? What better time than the present?" Genesis said, twirling his sword in a circular motion, his blue eyes intent on Vincent's maroon ones.

Vincent's blood pounded in his ears for a moment, as he realized what the man had just said. Every instinct within him was setting off in warning. Something was very wrong.

Genesis had walked over and snatched up a sword that had been displayed on the wall, and brought it back to Vincent, holding it by the blade so that the boy could easily grab it.

"Here," he said, ignoring the fact that Vincent hadn't replied.

Vincent stared down at the blade before his eyes flicked back to Genesis's face. He didn't want to fight the man; it was obviously not a good idea. He didn't want to disobey and get in trouble, however, he felt that the other alternative was not one he wanted to find out about.

"Sir, I'd rather not," Vincent answered, not with certainty, though the tone was passable.

"I'd rather you did." The look had turned much more stern, while the voice had changed yet again, sounding insistent.

Vincent looked back at the outstretched sword, then hesitantly accepted it. _Genesis is both Sephiroth and Angeal's friend_, Vincent thought, _he wouldn't hurt me...._

Vincent was sadly mistaken.

Without warning, the red broadsword swung at him. Vincent raised his own sword just in time to catch the red blade crossways, a sudden fear prickling at his skin. His adrenaline flashed through his veins instantaneously, as Genesis withdrew, then followed through with yet another attack.

Steel hit steel, Genesis's movements elegant and skillful, while Vincent's lacked both experience and the mako enhanced strength that was apparent in his opponent.

Genesis was so quick that Vincent faltered easily, missing his own chances for offense as he was still straggling behind on his last defensive move. It was clear that although Genesis was "going easy" on him, he was still not giving Vincent any opportunity to attack edgewise.

"Too quick for you?" Genesis taunted, smiling thinly. "Should I slow down?"

With that, the onslaught of attacks increased in intensity, Genesis's blade swinging for him seemingly without care, though it did not hit him.

Within a few minutes, Vincent was beginning to fear for his own safety, not sure if Genesis was doing it to intimidate him or if he was genuinely trying to harm him, albeit slowly.

Vincent blocked repeatedly, retreating because he did not want to get hit. The red sword was dangerously close at times, flying within inches of his body with a light, metallic whistle as it moved swiftly through the air.

"Stop!" Vincent said in warning, feeling anger starting to swell in his chest.

The blade had been more than close that time; it had cut a slit through the fabric of his uniform, right on the left side of his chest. It had barely grazed the skin, and although it was not an injury by any means, the fact that Genesis had actually intentionally done it made Vincent not only frightened, but angry.

"Why?" Genesis asked with a laugh, striking again, with a flourish.

"I'm not as fast as you..." Vincent breathed, his sword locked with Genesis's.

Genesis only smiled, not slowing in the least.

It was fifteen minutes before Genesis finally let up. He halfheartedly blocked Vincent's offensive strikes, laughing mockingly as he did so. He didn't even bother to attack anymore, instead only throwing off Vincent's sword, sometimes harshly just to get a reaction.

Finally, Genesis forcefully pushed Vincent back, using his sword. Vincent staggered, but caught himself. Genesis did not walk forward to continue the spar, but instead, a secretive smile pulled at his lips, and his sword rested at his side unthreateningly as he studied Vincent.

Vincent was worn down. He had small nicks everywhere, even one large one across his cheek. What was strange, was that somehow he had known he could have backed down at any time, yet he had not. Something about the man's arrogance had bothered him, struck at something deep. It was as though there was a part of himself that wanted to battle the wrong of the situation, and the only way he seemed to be able to do that was to fight back.

Vincent didn't quite understand why he had done it; pride maybe? A weird sense of justice? Whatever it was, he felt like he had just been exposed to a new side of himself. It was rash, almost foolish, and he realized, it was the same thing that had driven him while he was out in that hellish desert, focusing his sniper scope on the distant dunes.

He was huffing out each breath, his maroon eyes accusing behind the errant locks of black hair. Blood was dripping down his cheek, marring his too-pale skin.

Genesis returned his sword to its place on his back, still observing Vincent for a brief moment. He seemed pleased with himself, for whatever reason.

"Without a weapon this time, SOLDIER," Genesis ordered.

Vincent's anger flared up the First's words. He didn't hesitate as he dropped his sword with a loud clatter to the floor.

* * *

Angeal had already left, as Sephiroth made his way to the entrance.

He was looking down at his phone, frowning at the number of missed calls and texts, when he heard a winded cough come from down the corridor to his left.

It was already dark outside, and most of the lights had been turned off in the building, leaving the hall bathed in shadow.

Vincent Valentine appeared from the darkness, limping somewhat, though valiantly trying not to show it. He didn't see Sephiroth as he rounded the corner toward the exit, his head held lower than usual.

Sephiroth could smell the blood on him.

In a few quick strides, Sephiroth neared Vincent. The boy turned when he heard boots on the tile, his eyes wide, almost fearful, though they held a residual anger that surprised the General.

The expression changed completely when the boy saw who it was, softening, as the anger disappeared completely. His face reddened slightly, and he averted his gaze for a moment, seeming to collect himself.

Vincent had stopped breathing. He hadn't thought he would see the General anytime soon, and more specifically when he himself was not in the best of condition. He did notice quickly, however, that the General was not as neat as he usually was, his hair in disarray compared to its usual state. It was odd to see Sephiroth that way; it made him seem all the more human.

What was worse than being caught out in the hall with cuts all over, was that one of Vincent's dreams flashed in his memory, one of the more explicit ones. It was hard to look at the perfect pink mouth without thinking about what had happened in those dreams. Vincent cursed himself, trying to think of anything else, though he could feel his face heat from the line of thought.

"Private Valentine, what happened to you?" Sephiroth enquired, his green eyes immediately flicking to the slash across the boy's cheek. His voice was not toneless, but murkier, relaying a slight sound of concern underneath.

"Sir..." Vincent couldn't look the General in the eyes, but instead found himself studying his face, trying to quickly come up with some excuse for why he looked like he had just been in a fight that he had lost. "I was training," Vincent said with as much certainty as he could muster.

"With whom?"

Vincent swallowed, caught between fear about speaking about Genesis and embarrassment for the thoughts he was having. He felt trapped, like he had no time to think any of it over. Why did he have to think of such things when he was in front of the General? Why couldn't he just put it all aside and forget about it like he knew he needed to?

"I—"

Vincent could barely look Sephiroth in the eye, so embarrassed and confused he didn't know what to say.

"Private..." the General drawled.

"I was training with First Class Genesis Rhapsodos, sir," Vincent answered.

For some reason he knew that lying to the General would not work, so he chose to be honest. Not only that, but he was too preoccupied to come up with any believable alternatives. He wasn't even sure he was capable of lying to the man that had saved his life.

Sephiroth's eyes turned stormy for a brief instant, as he looked down at the form of Vincent, the bruises that were just starting to show, blossoming from underneath the collar of his uniform.

"I see," he said quietly, feeling that familiar scorching anger reheating throughout his cold veins.

Sephiroth had assumed that the "training" session had more or less burned the anger out of him, but apparently he had been quite wrong, as it seemed to have come back without difficulty.

Abruptly, Sephiroth's black-gloved hand went to Vincent's face. The boy visibly flinched from its unexpectedness, but did not dare pull away.

Vincent stood completely still, doing his best to hide his discomfort, while the General's cool, leather-covered hand faintly held onto his jaw. The hand moved his face to the side, as green eyes looked at the wound. Vincent's breathing would have been ragged had he not used every ounce of self control to inhale and exhale steadily.

He hated himself. He could feel the all too typical tightening in places he didn't need to think about, while bits and pieces of dreams he didn't want to recall taunted him, making his pale complection tinge scarlet.

Something in Vincent seemed to reach a sick sort of realization. He was _reacting_. This wasn't just some ridiculous dream. The General was touching him out of concern and he was _enjoying_ it. He felt vaguely disgusted with himself for being so easily aroused, particularly when all Sephiroth was doing was trying to help him and he certainly didn't need a hormonal teenage boy getting sexually excited over it.

Was it more than just a side effect of being rescued and a twisted, sex-obsessed sub-conscience? The thought made Vincent feel far too exposed. Did he actually _want_ the General? Were the feelings real?

Just as abruptly, the hand withdrew, but Vincent could not go back to his less tense posture. His thoughts were too scattered, too wrong.... He felt like he was betraying the General for thinking such stupid things.

"Where else are you hurt, Private Valentine?" Sephiroth's voice was calm, helping Vincent sober from the hormones that were trying to undo him.

"I'm fine, sir," Vincent answered quietly, not looking directly into those perceptive eyes.

"You were limping," Sephiroth stated bluntly.

"I just need some rest..."

"I'd prefer you were examined by one of the medical staff," Sephiroth said, again his eyes moving to the bruise near Vincent's throat. He was not hiding his concern this time, but let it cloud his eyes and soften his features.

Genesis.... Sephiroth could feel his fury building, knowing it was partially from whatever Hojo had injected him with, yet also from his growing disappointment in Genesis as of late. What had he done?

Vincent bowed his head, looking at the tile almost demurely as he battled to keep his thoughts buried.. "I will go if you want me to, sir, but I'm fine."

"I'll take you now," Sephiroth said, trying to sound reassuring in the way that Angeal would.

Vincent's look changed to fear and apprehension almost immediately. "Sir, it's not that bad. The training was just a little rough, that's all," Vincent protested.

The last thing he needed was the General going after Genesis. Genesis didn't like him already, and Vincent was not keen to make whatever animosity was there even worse. Enough people hated him already for getting extra tutoring from Commander Hewley, and to have Genesis against him was not something he needed when he was still just a Third who didn't stand a chance.

"Please, sir," Vincent said, "I just need to rest."

Sephiroth contemplated Vincent's protests for a moment, watching the boy intently. The teen had been through a lot, and hadn't that been exactly what he discussed with Angeal? There was a thin line between being helpful to subordinates and harsh. Vincent Valentine had proved himself to be an adept SOLDIER, and Sephiroth decided, had already dealt with quite enough for the time being.

He gave a curt nod of his head in response.

As for Genesis.... Sephiroth would deal with him.


	8. The Unexpected

**A/N:** I am sorry if most of this chapter is really dull and/or too slow, but I'm setting the stage for the next two or three chapters. And if you haven't guessed yet, there are a lot of things that are going to go wrong....

Thanks to **whatevergirl**, **Tiny Koala**, and **minoki**, for taking time to review and make me smile all stupid like! I only just realized yesterday that this story is nearly 30,000 words, and I have just finally set things into motion.... I'm obsessive compulsive about detail. It's the damn bane of my existence. That's why I generally try to stick to one shots.

* * *

Vincent was apprehensive. This was the first occasion he had ever been to Wutai, and one of the handful of instances where he would be far outside of Midgar.

It had been nearly two weeks since his confrontation with Genesis. The wounds from the encounter were already fading, and whatever had been wrong with Vincent's right leg for the next several days afterward, had slowly become less and less noticeable. Vincent had gotten used to ignoring it, and assumed that it was just some strained muscle that he had pulled wrong in the fight, or fallen on.

Vincent had never been in a helicopter so long. The constant whir of the blades and the strange openness of the sides made him sit far back into his seat. He noticed the few others with him seemed to be having a similar reaction, and looked out at the landscape through the gaping doorways with wide eyes.

It was strange. Vincent had just found out about his trip the very same afternoon, and had been pulled from classes and told to pack for a month long stationing in Wutai. He had never heard word from Commander Hewley about it, which had surprised him, as the man always seemed to give him a good warning ahead of time so that he could prepare accordingly.

Vincent had heard rumors that Thirds were being sent to Wutai, but no one in his squad had been sent, so Vincent had doubted the authenticity of the claims, passing them off as yet more gossip that was more irritating that interesting.

He let out a sigh. Yet here he was, on his way to the island with more people he didn't know, where he would stay for a month with no training to keep him busy. He knew it would be tedious; there wasn't exactly much that they would send Thirds to do, besides killing lower leveled fiends (which likely wouldn't happen anyway, he thought wryly), or taking shifts as guards.

It was nightfall by the time the helicopter landed, the redheaded pilot, a Turk, looking more than pleased with himself as he walked into the back end toward one of the doorways. He grinned at his passengers.

He had spiky, brilliant red hair that framed his face, with a pair of goggles pulled above his eyebrows haphazardly. His cheeks had two red tattoos, one line across each, while his face was very boyish, lacking masculine definition even though it was clear that he was well past puberty and likely in his twenties.

"You guys are so lucky. Not only did I not crash on my first flight with real passengers, but nothing caught on fire!" he said enthusiastically.

The Thirds next to Vincent stared at the redhead in astonishment, one's mouth hung open, while all the others' eyes went even wider. One whimpered.

Vincent couldn't help but laugh a little, though his gut clenched at the man's words.

The redhead frowned at their reaction, but looked over to Vincent for a second. "At least someone thinks it's funny..."

"Reno..." a deep voice said sternly.

The bald man who had been in the co-pilot's seat had made his way into the passenger cabin, adjusting his tie meticulously. He wore a dark pair of sunglasses, even though it was very obvious that he didn't need them when it was virtually black outside.

"Yeah, yeah, I got you, yo!" The man named Reno looked disappointed as he moved to leave, but winked over at Vincent anyway as he jumped to the ground, followed closely by the bald man.

The Thirds began to filter out of the helicopter after milling around for a few minutes, to find that a man dressed in a black uniform was standing outside waiting for them.

"You must be the fresh meat," he stated with a playful smile. "Welcome to Wutai."

The man held a list in his hands and looked over the Thirds in between glances to it. He was short, Vincent guessed around 5' 6", because he seemed to be just a few inches shorter than Vincent himself was. His hair was long, pulled back into a neat, tight ponytail that stopped about mid-back. His hair was dark, chocolate brown, his eyes a light blue color that seemed very out of place with his olive complection and brunette hair. His eyes did reveal, however, that he was heavily mako enhanced, as they nearly glowed in the dim lights that were scattered about the landing pad.

"I'm the one overseeing this base, but I don't enjoy formalities. You'll simply either call me by my first name Alister, or if you prefer, you can call me by my last name, Hamilton. Your choice, as I don't mind which one." He paused for a minute, looking again at his list with a frown.

"Now, you've all been sent to the northeastern part of this island, I don't know if you were aware. This section of Wutai has been under Shinra's control for the past two months, however...don't expect the townsfolk to be friendly." Alister smiled a bit grimly at the last part.

"You'll be running errands, taking up guard posts, and basically doing whatever needs getting done. You will not be involved in any of the conflicts in town, that will be left to the Seconds, who I'm sure will be very pleased..." Alister said, folding the list up and keeping it in his hand.

"It will likely end up being more boring than interesting, however, I expect you, as members of SOLDIER, to put as much effort into this as you would anything else. Am I clear?"

The chorus of 'yes sir' was weaker than usual, given that there were so few present.

"Let me show you around the base."

* * *

It took a few days for Vincent to fully adjust to the foreignness of his surroundings, which were much more rural than the urban setting his had lived in his entire life.

The work was easy, and Alister was around a lot, both checking in on them, and occasionally just stopping by to talk for awhile. Vincent actually found himself liking the man, as he was a change from the Thirds he had been bunked with.

Alister was like Zack in that he was very open and easy to talk to, but at the same time there was much more seriousness to him and concentration, with an underlying sarcasm that kept Vincent from getting too bored.

The dreams about Sephiroth had lately become constant. It seemed each time he nodded off, even for the brief naps between shifts, he was having some sort of erotic dream about the General.

Vincent had begun to slowly accept that he did have feelings for Sephiroth. It was difficult at first, and Vincent still hated himself for it, but there was very little he could do to stop himself from reliving the flickering, heated fantasies.

He knew it was a hero crush, somehow stemming from the vague idolization that had started even before his initiation into SOLDIER. With the training assignment it had suddenly flared into whatever it now was, somewhere between obsessive interest and a desire to be liked and respected by someone who meant so much. Someone who was powerful, loyal....

What was most upsetting though, was that Vincent more or less knew the stupid feelings were going to cause a lot of discomfort to him when he did have to interact with the object of his incessant hormones. The last thing he wanted was for the General to lose what little respect he had for him. He knew it wasn't much, given that he'd gone and cried like a child over a few dead SOLDIERs. It was apparent that Sephiroth didn't have much tolerance for weakness in others (and most especially, in himself, Vincent thought), particularly in SOLDIERs who were expected to be the best of the best.

Vincent secretly hoped his preoccupation with the silver-haired man would dim with time, as such things usually did. What was cause for concern though, was that it had very little to do with aesthetics, and much more to do with personality. The attraction was personal, which wasn't the greatest thing for Vincent, as he knew it would be much harder to rid himself of his feelings.

"I'm going to the mess hall," Alister said, rising from the chair he had fallen asleep in. He blinked, stretching lazily and looking through half-lidded eyes at Vincent.

Vincent nodded, trying to disentangle himself from the thoughts that seemed to have stretched on forever. It was odd how time passed so quickly when he got caught up in thought, while the rest of the time it was as though the day would never end.

After a few minutes of staring vaguely at nothing, Vincent finally got up, wincing a bit from the shooting pain that went up his leg. It was still giving him trouble every now and then.

His gait straightened somewhat as he made his way out of the building, the muscles loosening from the movement, though they still gave small protests with each step. He went toward the mess hall as well, looking around at the battered wooden structures as he walked.

The "base" as it was called, was on the outskirts of the several towns that had recently been overtaken. It had been thrown together months before, but had seen its fair share of hard times and battles. The buildings were a testament to it, looking weathered and forlorn though they weren't all that old.

Vincent was most often on base, but had already been sent into the nearest town a few times, where he had stood outside of one of the nicer buildings for hours on end, watching the disgruntled Wutai walk by with scowls, occasionally calling him "SOLDER scum", among other less creative names.

He felt bad for them in a lot of ways, how they had everything taken from them, especially their pride, by Shinra. It was cruel the way the world worked. There had been times in his history classes that he had doubted the company he worked for, and now especially, witnessing the effects firsthand made him feel a bit strange about his own decision to join SOLDIER. He had done it because he had no other place to go. He had never sat down and considered that he might not agree with what he was sent to do, or what the company did.

But at the same time, he had loyalty ingrained in him, not just to the company, but the SOLDIERs he had met. Sephiroth and Angeal were among those few. He would never leave SOLDIER, at least he didn't think he would, but it was still difficult to act for Shinra when he did not wholeheartedly agree.

Shinra claimed they were bringing 'civilization' to Wutai, but were they really? Vincent had seen very little of 'civilization' in the last few days, much more destruction and a rampant unhappiness that permeated from the place. Perhaps it would just take time, given that things were still not quite settled.

Vincent walked up the rough stone steps, toward the entrance of the mess hall. Two SOLDIERs came down the stairs at the same time, arguing animatedly back and forth and shoving each other harshly, though it still had an element of playfulness to it that was revealed in their laughs and smiles. Vincent ignored them for the most part, until one of them, the larger of the two came crashing into him.

Vincent tried to keep his balance, but was easily thrown back by the man's weight, as both were sent down the staircase in a rolling, painful heap. The larger man landed directly on top of Vincent, his back to the boy's chest, as they finally stopped at the bottom. The older man let out a groan of pain, and rolled off of Vincent coughing a bit and clutching onto his lower back.

The other man who had pushed the larger one, was laughing hysterically, doubled over and red faced. "You totally took that kid out!" he panted, between laughs. "You should have seen it!"

The one who had just gotten up off of the ground, hadn't looked amused at first, but he laughed a little as well, walking over to his friend. He cast a muffled "sorry" over his shoulder at Vincent, who hadn't moved, then the two men walked off.

Vincent was trying not to scream. Something had definitely broken; he had felt it right when they hit the first step. His leg, which had been aching before, positively throbbed with each heartbeat, causing Vincent to gasp. He could already feel the tears biting at his vision, trying desperately to force their way out of his eyes.

Vincent did his best to twist his body so that he might be able to get up. He managed to get himself to a sitting position, his legs splayed out, the right one bent so that he wouldn't have to move it as much. With as much effort as he could manage through the pain, he tried to stand, only to fall back down onto his ass with a yelp of pain.

"Hey, are you okay kid?" Alister asked, coming down the steps with a wrapped sandwich in his hand. He stopping at the bottom where Vincent was sitting, red faced and in pain.

"I fell down the stairs," Vincent lied. "There was already something a little off with my leg, but now I've really gone and done something..." he said quietly, wincing visibly.

"You want me to take you to the Med building?" Alister questioned, his brow frowning in worry. He had knelt down next to Vincent, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Yeah, I think I'd better have it looked at," Vincent answered, trying not to cry.

It had to be broken.

* * *

"Looks like you might have already had a stress fracture. When you fell you went and re-damaged it and then some. Must have been quite a fall; that tibia broke nearly clean in half."

"Great..." Vincent said in a whisper, looking down at his bruised and swollen right leg that was propped out on the white sheets beneath him.

"See right there?" the balding doctor said, pointing to a place on the X-ray. "That line is filled in a bit, means healing. All those blank spaces there show complete breakage. We're going to have to get a cast on it after we have the healers come in and get it into better shape."

"How long will he need to wear it?" Alister asked, looking worriedly between Vincent and the doctor.

"Oh, few weeks. Won't be too bad. Should be pretty much all fixed when we take the cast off. We'll give him a bit of some of the new drugs we just got in, which will really quicken the healing time."

Vincent nodded, though he sighed quietly.

"Hey, don't worry about it," Alister said with a smile. "They'll get you patched up, and we'll just have you on phone duty or something until it gets healed."

"How long do I have to stay?" Vincent asked, staring over at the doctor upon Alister's words.

"Just for the night, if that even. You might get to sleep in your bunk tonight it all is well. But we'll get it all wrapped up and healed up some, then take it from there, okay?"

Again, Vincent nodded, knowing it was going to be a long night. A very long night.

* * *

He was in agony, just laying back on the pillows, sweat rolling down his temples and causing his black locks to stick to his face. He couldn't believe what horrible luck he had.

The room was hot, stuffy even, making matters worse, as the cast held in all heat and moisture, making his leg itch terribly.

He had chosen to stay at the hospital (if one could call it a hospital) for the night, because he knew that Alister would be hovering over him if he went back to the base. Alister was the sort to worry, and Vincent figured it would be better that the man at least worry while getting some work done, rather than constantly checking in on him.

The 'hospital' was in one of the conquered towns (Vincent still had not been able to find out what the town was named originally; most of the SOLDIERs didn't seem to care), toward the edge of the farthest of houses and a ways from the SOLDIER base. It was a two story building, but looked more like an office than a hospital. He had discovered that it had been constructed haphazardly during one of the earlier battles some years earlier, and that it had been used frequently during that time by the Wutai, which explained its dilapidated state.

The facets leaked, the ceilings were cracked, and everything smelled musty. It was in disuse lately, as there had been no major battles and most of the badly injured SOLDIERs were flown to Shinra occupied villages and towns with better medical resources anyway.

The building wasn't completely useless, however, as it served mostly as a place for minor injuries or sickness to be treated. Shinra more or less completely owned the building now, and besides a brick building in the center of the town, it was the only one that was always housing SOLDIERs.

The room Vincent was in was on the upper floor, large and spacious, filled with ten other beds, two of which had men in them. One was sick with a fever, and the other had accidentally shot himself in the foot with his rifle. Vincent supposed that he was lucky in the sense that he wasn't too terribly hurt from the fall and that it would heal quickly, even if he would be out of commission for a few weeks. He used that thought to placate himself as he stared off at the walls, too bored to pick up his Tactics book that Alister had brought him.

Downstairs there was a very small medical staff consisting of two doctors and a few nurses. Because it was night, there was only one nurse on duty, a man named David, who had told Vincent to ring the buzzer if he needed something.

Vincent would have liked to have asked David for something, but he didn't want to be a bother. He also wasn't entirely thrilled about the idea of having a strange man help him pee. It seemed that the doctors had more or less forgotten about that bodily function, as they hadn't put in a catheter or discussed how exactly he was going to go when the need arose.

Vincent shifted uncomfortably, trying to ignore his bladder and concentrate on something else. It didn't last long, however, as he realized that he had to go, or risk soiling his bed.

He got up slowly, wincing, but not crying out as he moved his unwilling body toward the end of the bed. He let out a shaky breath, as he put weight onto his good left leg, using the bed to balance his unsteadiness. What hurt the most was moving his cast-covered leg, then slowly applying the tiniest bit of pressure as he took his first step forward.

Vincent gasped, feeling his blood pressure instantaneously spike. His maroon eyes stared off at the white tiled wall he could just make out in the dimness. When it had been lighter, he had seen the toilet and shower that resided there. All he had to do was get over to it...then walk back. But it looked amazingly far when he thought about how much it would hurt.

The SOLDIER in him seemed to rise to the surface, because he began to walk slowly, eyes focusing on where he thought that damn toilet was. It just had to be on the other side of his room, as far from his bed as possible....

It was dark, the room half shadowed but for a few low lights toward the doorway and over the beds of the patients. Vincent went with care, always looking down to make sure there wasn't something that he might trip over, and trying not to make too much noise and accidentally wake the other SOLDIERs.

The tiled wall he was heading for was so blindingly white, that even in the semi-dark it stood out.

A floorboard creaked near the doorway, making Vincent pause in his steps. He craned his neck to look, not taking the extra effort to move another step to turn around completely. He didn't see anything, which was odd. The building was in bad shape, so perhaps it was just shifting as some structures were prone to do.

Vincent looked back to his goal, putting the noise from his thoughts as he took another quiet, measured step.

Again he heard the squeaking of bending boards. Suddenly, however, there was a new noise. The metallic sound of sword plunging through something, giving off that metallic ring as it was pulled out sharply. The sound came again, just as Vincent turned to look, his eyes filled with confusion.

There was a gurgle, another sound of steel....

Two men in black were standing over the hospital beds, their faces concealed except for a slice that revealed their eyes.

The man on the left bed that had been next to Vincent's, had a katana submerged halfway through his torso, his brown eyes watering with fear as he sputtered out bubbles of blood mixed in with his saliva. He was looking at his killer, but could do nothing, his shirt already bloodied in two spots.

The other patient's head had been severed from his shoulders by the other black-clad man, the newly exposed tissues of the neck sending out rapid spurts of crimson splattering over the bleached white sheets. The head, now unseeing, was flung to the floor with a flick of the assassin's hand, landing with a disgustingly loud bang, before rolling a few feet across the dulled, cracked cement.

Vincent covered his mouth with his hand, doing everything he could not to make a sound. The SOLDIER in him, the angry part told him to do something, while his more rational side told him to stay put. His breathing was already erratic, but he fought to keep it quiet, even if it still came out rushed.

Both of the SOLDIERs were already good as dead. The one that had been stabbed already looked to have stopped breathing. Vincent knew that there was no point in saving someone who was done for.

He was thankful that there was so much darkness in the room, and that he was standing in one of the blackest areas. However, his heart was beating harshly in his chest, as he stood as still as he was able, hoping that the dark was covering him, concealing him from the assassins.

The two men exchanged a glance, one of them casting a quick inspection of the room, eyes stopping on the Tactics book on the night table that was situated between Vincent's bed and the one that belonged to the man that had been stabbed.

The assassin picked the tome up in a gloved hand, flipping it open for a moment and turning a few pages roughly. Already bored, he tossed it onto Vincent's bed, his keen eyes stopping on the partially wrinkled sheets.

Vincent closed his eyes for a brief second, fist clenched. _Fuck, they are going to notice that someone is missing! _Vincent thought in horror, as the assassin's deft fingers, pulled at the sheets a bit. Vincent was glad that he had been too hot to get under the sheets, which meant that the bed was still made, but even so, it looked disheveled.

The assassin took a look at the nearby beds, the other man standing closely behind him with his arms crossed over his chest, seemingly impatient.

A few of the other beds weren't neatly made, likely because the hospital was so short staffed, and making the beds wasn't necessarily a priority.

The impatient one shrugged, brushing past his partner and back towards the door, the handle of his katana so long that even while it was strapped on his back it still stuck out over his covered head.

The other one did not move from his spot, looking more rigid than Vincent would have liked. His murky brown eyes looked directly over to where Vincent was, moving very slowly, suspiciously.

He took a few steps toward the blackness, eyes catching on the white tile that was discernable, just as Vincent's had.

He let out a "hmph", and turned left the room.

Vincent's mind was in a state of panic, but it eased at least partially because the assassin had left. Even so, he was unwilling to move until he was absolutely certain the men were gone.

Chances were they had killed David when they had gotten inside.

The thought made Vincent look over to the corpses that shared the room with him. Bloody, dead.

What was going on? And more importantly, how the hell was he going to get around to warn someone when he was in such a condition? He could barely even walk....


	9. Welcome to War, Enjoy Your Stay

**A/N:** I never even realized the last chapter was a cliff hanger.... I guess it's because I know how everything turns out XD

Thanks to everybody who was awesome enough to review! That would be **whatevergirl** (bad things are ahead!), **RedHerring1412** (I loved that you you gave detailed reviews of each chapter, and the things you said about Grimoire definitely might be something I consider when I get to that part in the story, but alas! I am a slacker and still haven't planned everything!), **minoki** (I love Reno too! There is lots of disaster...much more...heh heh), **Anonymous **(praise is good! Don't worry, I love to read long reviews!), **Tiny Koala** (I'm glad my style is working out alright; I always question it :D), **Corncob** (hey, he never peed in the last chapter, did he? Whoops... He is REALLY lucky he had to go, or else he might be dead...although I would somehow ressurect him...), **OvenBased** (Oh, wait until you see the NEXT cliff hanger in a few chapters...), and **KT** (well I'm glad it leaves you happy! That's really funny, actually.).

Now why did I answer reviews? It means I'm apologetic...because I probably won't post tomorrow. I actually have a life tommorrow, surprisingly enough. :(

* * *

Vincent had somehow managed to struggle his way down to the first floor.

There were no signs of the two assassins he had seen earlier, though the decapitated nurse made Vincent all too aware that it was no nightmare, but reality.

He knew a lot of the medical supplies were on the lower floor. He needed something to help him get around, hopefully a pair of crutches. He knew there was no way he would be able to make it across the rough dirt paths without some kind of assistance.

But he went to the phone first, picking up the receiver that had been speckled with warm, red blood. He let out a sigh when, as expected, the phone was dead. He put it back on the desk with a clang, maroon eyes searching the hallways ahead of him.

It took him a good ten minutes to find something useful. It was a child's crutch that had been shoved and abandoned in a broom closet. It was short for Vincent, but since he didn't have the time to keep searching, it would have to do. He had wasted so much time already just getting around.... There was no telling what those men would have done in all of that time, especially if, like Vincent thought, they were part of some coalition.

He hobbled all the way to the entrance, stopping the shadow of the doorway to listen to what should have been a peacefully quiet night. As usual, things sounded relatively quiet except for the light patter of small raindrops that must have just started, lukewarm from the humidity of the night. Even in the near silence, Vincent felt he could discern a touch of the sinister foreboding that drifted through the darkness. It might have simply been because of what he had seen, or maybe it was instinct...he wasn't entirely sure, and didn't have much time to think about it.

He made his way down the steps at an alarmingly slow pace, both in effort to be nearly silent, as well as to not take another tumble. That was the absolute last thing he needed....

That's when he saw the moving shadows. Though it was nearly black outside, a few of the nearby houses had dim porch lights, which cast strange, lengthy shadows far up ahead. Vincent had only seen them because they were going by so quickly. There was definitely something going on....

As he was making his way along the outskirts of the town, that's when he heard it: gunshots. Not only that, but cries of human pain, shouts and sounds of anger, rage.

He was too late; they must have already gotten to the brick building where the only SOLDIERs in town were. However, that also meant that the Firsts and Seconds there who all had cell phones would relay the uprising to the base. Maybe some could be saved after all. And not to mention, there were Firsts in that building, though few in number they were not a group to be trifled with, nor were the Seconds.

Thirds may have been "fresh meat", but that was only because half of them had been personally recruited by the Turks to join SOLDIER, and as a consequence had never had any previous military experience. That was likely one of the reasons that the time between being a Third and becoming a Second was often so long for some, and the ages of the group varied.

He knew that the building would do everything in its power to hold its own no matter who guarded it. Now the question was, what was he going to do?

* * *

"Have you seen Vincent?" Zack questioned, having just barged abruptly into Angeal's office.

He had thrown open the door without knocking, though his pounding footsteps had been noise enough for Angeal to be well aware that he was coming.

Angeal let out a sigh, shaking his head in disapproval, though he couldn't help but smile slightly from over his stack of reports.

"No, not for the last few days," Angeal answered, half considering giving Zack another lecture on "proper conduct" when entering his office.

Angeal hadn't had training sessions with Vincent for the last two days; over the weekends he had been taking the missions he had been assigned to. Shinra allowed Angeal to work more on the Shinra base than any of the other Firsts, because he preferred helping out the SOLDIERs (mainly the Seconds) to most other work, and it enabled him to continue mentoring Zack. Even so, with the shortages of Firsts, he had to spend time on mission just as everyone else, and was gone frequently.

"Well he wasn't at lunch; I checked," Zack said frowning. "I was going to ask him if he wanted to get some practice in..."

"He may be in his dorms, Zack."

Angeal began to fill out another form, but his brow furrowed after a moment. "Is this what you sent me five texts about?"

"Well...yeah. But it's not like it isn't important! I looked in Vincent's dorm. I also checked in with his next class, which is where I just came from. He must have skipped, because he wasn't there either."

Angeal put down the forms. "He wasn't at class?"

"No. So where did he go?"

Angeal's expression turned to a look of displeasure. He seemed to be in thought, so Zack waited, fiddling with the edge of his uniform, while looking around at the plaques riddling the walls. There were even a few left over in a heap on top of a small filing cabinet.

"I'll look into it," Angeal said enigmatically, after a long silence.

Angeal already had a vague idea of where Private Valentine might be, and he was not happy about it.

"That's it?" Zack said, obviously expecting Angeal to say something more.

"For now, Zack. I'll take care of it; don't concern yourself. Go spend some time with Kunsel."

Zack looked skeptical, but he nodded grudgingly, then left.

Would they have sent Vincent to Wutai? The thought worried Angeal. They had left Zack alone because they had known that it was too much of a hassle to go through him first. It was one of the benefits of being someone well respected and feared: your charges were often excluded from the more dangerous missions.

He knew a few small groups of Thirds had already been shipped off (the Seconds had been sent the week prior) and that another had left the previous afternoon, if memory served him. It was troubling; he would have to speak to Sephiroth.

* * *

Sephiroth was on the phone with Lazard while Angeal was seated on the leather sofa of the General's scantily decorated apartment, looking angry.

Sephiroth's face was unfathomable, though it was clear from the harsh manner in which he held the thin, bright red cell phone in his hand, that arguing with him would not be pleasant.

Angeal could only hear Sephiroth's end of the conversation, but it was clear what was being said.

"I want you to check the deployment list for me," Sephiroth stated. "Check it for a Private Vincent Valentine, and any other member from squad twelve."

It was quiet for a moment, Sephiroth's green eyes staring down at the end table.

The whole apartment looked as though it was uninhabited. Everything had the appearance of being brand new, unused, as though each item were just for show. There was a television toward the corner near the couch, but Angeal knew Sephiroth never used it.

"Yesterday? How long is he stationed?" Sephiroth questioned, his jaw clenching visibly. "I see."

"Let me speak to him, Sephiroth," Angeal said, rising from the smooth black couch.

Sephiroth handed the phone over without protest, and Angeal took it, giving a brief hello to Lazard before he began talking about Vincent.

"I need him sent back. He was placed in an advanced squad, but he still requires a bit more training. Spending time on guard duty without classes is not going to help him any."

Sephiroth did not sit down, but instead watched Angeal, judging the outcome of the conversation by the expressions the man made and the part of the conversation he could hear.

"So when is the next group being sent?" Angeal asked, looking even further annoyed.

He didn't say anything for another few seconds, but he then covered the speaker of the cell phone with his hand, looking over to Sephiroth.

"They aren't sending any troops over there for another week. It looks like he'll be over there for awhile longer," Angeal said with a audible sigh.

Sephiroth nodded curtly, back to his calm, unreadable expression for the sake of Angeal.

A few more minutes of talking and Angeal finally flipped the phone closed, handing it back over to Sephiroth.

"Lazard checked with the Turks. They're not making any runs because there could be some heavy storms within the next few days. Looks like Vincent will be there until well into next week."

* * *

Vincent slammed his pain-ridden body into the building, withholding the gasp that had risen in his throat and nearly made its way out of his mouth.

In his hands, held shakily, was a .50 caliber sniper rifle on a tripod. It was heavy, even though it had been designed for functionality, and even included a foldout stand to steady shots from the incredible recoil. Vincent had never used one before, but he knew that he needed something guaranteed to be deadly.

Swords were the name of the game. Men all dressed in black like the two Vincent had seen inside the hospital, crowded the narrow, dirt streets, each with a frighteningly sharp katana in their arsenal.

The building was still standing, many of the SOLDIERs outside of it fighting blade to blade with the townspeople who had been feigning begrudged surrender for two months. Reenforcements had arrived from the nearby base, with even Thirds joining the battle. It was a war zone.

Vincent had picked up his rifle from a massive fallen SOLDIER. The gun, surprisingly, had been strapped to the man's back. Vincent was guessing he was heading for the top floor of the brick building where he might have been able to make well-aimed shots from the upper windows. Only, the SOLDIER never made it inside of the building, but was cut down by a strange bearded man in a purple cloak.

Whoever the cloaked man was, Vincent knew it was not wise to be anywhere near him. He had held a staff imbedded with spheres of materia, and with one blast he had dropped the large, burly SOLDIER dead.

Vincent was grateful that the fighting was so chaotic; it had been easy for him to slip through the shadows unnoticed, even if he was a little noisy and slow from his cast-covered leg. The darkness had also proved to be a great asset, along with the sprinkling rain which concealed noise.

His crutch was gone now, as he had to trade it for the weapon. The rifle was so tall though that if he put the heavy black stock on the ground he could hold onto the long, ebony-colored steel barrel to brace himself. He could have turned it the other way and used the stock under his arm just like a crutch, but the ground was getting sloppy from the rain and he didn't want mud to get into the barrel. He wasn't quite sure how fussy the rifle was, and didn't want to impede its accuracy in any way.

He made his way between a few of the buildings, looking for some place a bit far off from the thick of the fighting.

It was a three story pawn-like shop that caught his eye. It had a direct view of the brick building, and there were no people that he could see, except for one SOLDIER who was fighting off two of the black-clad men.

Vincent leaned back against the building he was hobbling alongside, watching as the SOLDIER continually held off the two men, slashing his sword angrily through the air in a line of silver that clashed with one of the mens' katanas.

He pushed the stock of the .50 caliber up against the wall behind him, steadying it for a moment as he waited and made sure the safety was off. He knew he couldn't sit and shoot; it would be too awkward with the cast. The stand was folded in as he brought it to the front of his shoulder, the stock pressed sternly against the muscle. It was, as he had predicted, extremely difficult to hold up and keep still without something solid to rest it against. Fortunately, he was not far away from the fighting men.

He brought the scope to his vision, having to adjust it a lot to get it to focus in so close. He held it up on one of the men in black, evening his breathing and trying to follow the swift movements. It would be easy to miss and accidentally hit the SOLDER; they were moving back and forth frequently and erratically.

He was trying to get the crosshair on the chest of one of the men. Vincent stopped breathing, but much to his disappointment, the highlighted lines were shaky, moving all over the man's body. Vincent wanted to sigh in frustration, but he was already feeling the strain of trying to keep the heavy rifle stable. It was so damned heavy.

"Fuck it..." he breathed quietly to himself.

The blast was so loud that Vincent's ears seemed to lose their ability to hear for a few brief seconds. The recoil, however, was the worst part. Vincent's pained body slammed back into the wall with the force, his shoulder protesting horribly from the acute blow of the rifle stock into his flesh.

One of the men had dropped, and it was not the SOLDIER. Vincent smiled, though somewhere he knew he would be questioning his actions later.

There was little time to think about the fact that he had, for the first time in his life, played God.

* * *

Sephiroth would have audibly growled in anger had he not been surrounded by both the President and several of the most important members of Shinra.

Being correct was bittersweet.

Shinra had just received news that the newest makeshift base had been ambushed. The SOLDIERs were easily being stifled by the overwhelming force that had descended on them in the night. There had been no warning, no signs of such a large uprising. It was clear than more than just the few conquered towns were involved. In fact, it had already been established by one of the SOLDIERs at the base itself, that some of the attackers were wearing the colors of previously conquered regimes.

It looked like the independent minded Wutai were not going to go quietly as hoped. Groups in Wutai that had once been enemies, were now fighting alongside each other in an attempt to overthrow the sphere of influence that Shinra had shadowed them in. They were unwilling to yield and allow Shinra more control over their struggling civilization.

"We will send as many Firsts as we are able," the President said consolingly. "We will do everything in our power to reassert control over northeastern Wutai."

His worried look had shifted to the General, who was stony faced, blank as ever, though his eyes glimmered with something unknown that had caused many of the men to stand a good distance from him.

Getting to Wutai was the greatest problem posed, as a storm had come in from the ocean and according to Doppler, was only going to get progressively worse as it moved in on the island. It would be risky to take helicopters in such unpredictable weather conditions.

Sephiroth felt there was no need in such a situation for false civility; he had long had his tolerance worn thin.

"I'm leaving now," he said in a clipped tone. "You may do as you like."

* * *

**A/N:** Shorter than usual, sorry. I wasn't even going to post today, but I figured I'd give you something instead of nothing.


	10. The Sorcerer's Revenge

**A/N:** I think people are going to hate me for the turn in this story.... But I have to admit that I've been planning it forever...like ALL along.... You might hate me for what happens and consequently hate the story, or you might just hate me for leaving the chapter a cliff hanger. Remember I promised a wretched cliffhanger? This is it. Anyway, either way, hopefully everyone will forgive me, because I promise this isn't the last chapter; there are many more to go...if people don't hate me too badly (grins). Thanks to everybody who took time to review! Those cool people would be: **OvenBased**, **whatevergirl**, **kiralover44**, **minoki**, **Anonymous**, **KT**, **NicotineGum**, and **Risikaa**.

I felt terrible for not posting for a day; you guys have me conditioned! I'm Pavlov's freaking dog! And Vincent has worse luck than Harry Potter, just so all of you know. I think he's so cute that he makes me want to be sadistic toward him...like I want to ruin his sweet innocence or something (which I will, eventually...through Sephiroth...). Remember the old bearded dude in purple? He was important....

* * *

The SOLDIER looked just a surprised by the drop of his enemy as the other assassin did. They both looked over their shoulders in Vincent's direction, but then quickly turned back to sparring as they realized that the other was distracted. It didn't last long, as the assassin grew paranoid, trying to back away and keep the SOLDIER's body from exposing his own to the shooter, whose whereabouts he wasn't entirely sure of.

Vincent had already prepared himself for another shot. The like-minded SOLDIER seemed to acknowledge this, and purposely kept from moving too abruptly so that Vincent would have a more ample opportunity.

Again, Vincent fired, tensing in anticipation from the recoil and only succeeding in making its aftereffects worse. Vincent winced, even reflexively closing his eyes as the gun went off, but it was hard to miss when shooting the equivalent of a canon.

It literally ripped one of the assassin's legs from his body in an explosion of torn flesh, blood, and bone, which sickeningly spread its gore on the hungry, muddy earth and the wood-slated walls of one of the buildings.

The assassin was left behind with a bloody stump, already having been blown to the ground to lay helplessly on the soaked ground, screaming in agony. The force had sent the limb somewhere into the darkness, where, Vincent wasn't sure, and thankfully his conscience seemed to cut him off from being disgusted such barbaric thoughts, at least for the moment.

The SOLDIER quickly dispatched of his fallen enemy, sending his blade deep into the man's chest with the grotesque sound of squelching flesh and cracking bones. He then looked up, searching the darkness for whoever had just helped him. He squinted for a moment, scanning the nearby buildings, before his eyes found Vincent hiding in the shadows.

The man briskly, but carefully walked over to the Third, sometimes running across the more open spots to keep himself from being an easy target. It was only when the SOLDIER got closer that Vincent finally realized who it was.

"Jack..." Vincent said in a whisper, surprised to see the man, who had always seemed so demure in the time Vincent had spent with him.

It was strange how when duty called for it people could change so drastically....

Vincent hadn't exactly had the time to figure out just who he was trying to save, not to mention that his scope was not designed for night shooting, as the more skilled SOLDIERs who used such weapons were mako enhanced and had no need for night vision optics. All he could see was the highlighted crosshair when he shot.

Jack was one of the Firsts, not particularly well known, but Vincent knew him through Alister, who was best friends with the man.

"Alister was out looking for you; he went back to the hospital," Jack said quietly, pushing the damp blonde hair from his eyes.

He made his way into the shadow Vincent was utilizing, his breathing labored from his recent fight.

"He was?"

"Yeah," Jack said. He was quiet for a few seconds, his eyes on Vincent's cast. "Hey, how did you get out here?" he asked, giving Vincent an incredulous look.

"I walked..." Vincent answered ironically, smiling a little in the darkness.

"In a cast?"

"Why not?" Vincent replied seriously.

Jack shook with silent laughter, leaning into the building next to Vincent. Vincent only waited, partially amused, partially irritated. He supposed it was a little odd, but not that funny.... After Jack seemed to sober a bit, he finally spoke:

"So you want me to help you get somewhere a little safer?" he said with a grin.

"It would be helpful...."

* * *

Sephiroth's hair whipped about him from the wind that rushed in through the sides of the helicopter. His coat beat against his bare chest, the buckles clinking together noisily as he stared out into the darkness of the night.

He had "dealt" with Genesis. The argument had more or less wound up being a confrontation that came to physical blows.

It was clear that what Sephiroth had feared had befallen Genesis. Slowly, but surely, Genesis was unconsciously yielding to the overflow of mako in his system. And unlike Sephiroth, he didn't have the insanity of Hojo to experiment on new ways to combat the rampant side-effects the strange chemical caused.

Sephiroth knew that Hollander had finally given into his desire both for recognition and because of the manipulative tendencies of Genesis. Hollander, though a capable scientist, was unlike Hojo in that he easily lost confidence and would crumble under pressure. It was one of the reasons Sephiroth had a strong distaste for the Director of the Science Division; it made Hollander untrustworthy. Not only would Hollander cave in to Genesis's ambition, but any other who had a strong personality. It could cause serious problems.

As for Genesis.... He seemed to have no conscience issues over his actions. He had openly admitted to "practicing" with Private Valentine, and to going harder on him than was necessary or wanted. He seemed completely unaffected by the maliciousness of what he had done, and was actually annoyed by Sephiroth's words of warning to him on the subject.

Genesis wanted to be the best, far better than Sephiroth. It was apparent that Genesis was likely abusing the mako as much as Hojo, if not more. Things would only progressively worsen; mako was not a substance that could be abused without disastrous consequences.

All of the SOLDIERs who received mako treatments were experiments. Mako had barely even been tested on live subjects before Shinra okayed its "safety" for human usage. There was so little known about its side-effects....

What was clear to the General, was that mako broke down inhibition, it broke down doubt, it took all of the human elements and ideals such as morality and crushed them under its influence. In reality, mako was the perfect compound to create a killing machine, while in small amounts, such as those the SOLDIERs received, it made murder not only easier, but took away a lot of the conscience issues that those in the military were prone to. SOLDERs with mako didn't need counciling, didn't experience post-traumatic emotional problems or depression—at least when the mako wasn't overused.

It was one of the main reasons there was such a vast difference in behavior from Third Classes to Second Classes. Seconds were getting regular treatments, though small, they were more than enough to effect emotion and perception. Mako could make the ideal slave, or it could make the ideal monster, it was simply a matter of adjusting the dosage according to expectations.

There would be little hope for Genesis unless he got his emotions under control and acknowledged what the mako was doing to him, both mentally and physically. It would not just make him stronger, but it could severely damage musculature permanently, cause blood clots, and a whole other slue of medical problems that had taken Hojo years to learn how to correct.

There was also one major difference between Sephiroth and Genesis: Sephiroth's body did not have the typical reaction to mako; he did not have to get treatments to maintain his strength, he was self-maintaining. Only small dosages every six months or even every year, were given, more precautionary than anything else, or to help heal extensive damage. To constantly strain the body with an abundance of the toxic substance was the equivalent of overdosing on the most potent steroids.

Little could be done, Sephiroth knew. Genesis would not falter from his course of ego-fulfilment, even if it was inadvertently a means of self destruction.

Sephiroth's focus came back to the helicopter, as the machine swayed uncertainly through the air, hit hard by the rising thermals. Rain was thundering down on the aircraft, making visibility poor for the Turk pilot, who was shouting curses at the bird every couple of seconds while the bald co-pilot sat back trying not to give away his obvious amusement.

Sephiroth knew Reno and Rude well; he often worked alongside the two when he was required to use the company of the Turks, generally for transport alone. He had chosen to have the inexperienced pilot because the redheaded Turk had shown his aptitude to keep an aircraft in the air even while in the most stressful of situations. It was instinct that intrigued Sephiroth, as in the past good instinct proved to be more valuable than anything experience could teach. Instinct could not be learned, and during the most crucial of times, it could take the newest SOLDIER and turn him into a mass-murdering psychopath who outlived even the most seasoned of killers.

Instinct was purely animal. Purely survival.

* * *

Vincent had his .50 caliber propped up on a stack of dusty, yellowed tomes, the texts shifting dangerously with each shot the boy fired off.

The tripod proved to be quite useful, though with his leg in a cast, he had been forced to improvise. Laying on his stomach was not an option, as getting up quickly would have been too difficult should it be necessary. Instead he had pulled aside an old desk from one of the walls with Jack's help, then stacked it high with old antique books to get the scope up to eye level and even with the broken window. It had taken four stacks to provide a stable enough base, and although the books were very heavy, he found himself constantly having to readjust them so that everything wouldn't topple off of the desk. It was a matter of balance.

Each shot was slow, calculated. The lighted crosshairs had proved to be very helpful, separating the lines from the bodies he was lining the barrel up with. One problem he had encountered, however, was distinguishing friend from foe. At such a long distance and in such horrible lighting (the dim lights from the buildings did help some, but not much), he had to observe for minutes to ensure he was hitting the right target. That, and when he actually fired off the shot, the tiniest movement, because of the distance, was incredibly magnified. If he moved just slightly he could be two feet off of the target. Thankfully he hadn't been too far off most of the time (which was surprising given his inexperience), and only hit inanimate objects, no actual people.

He tried to think of it as target practice, just much more...dangerous. It appeared that the enemy didn't have snipers, at least none in the town. The base was another thing. Vincent had absolutely no idea what was going on at the base. Jack had given him his cell phone before he had left to use if he needed, but given that there was a war going on, Vincent had not received or made any calls and was pretty out of the way to get any information.

The SOLDERs were not holding up well. The number of enemies had quickly become overwhelming. Even though their skills were far below that of any of the more talented SOLDIERs, in large groups they could do a lot of damage. As precaution, one of the SOLDIERs on the upper floor of the brick building was tossing grenades down into the doorway every few minutes, blasting anyone that dare come up the stairwell without calling first and announcing their presence. Black clad bodies more or less ruptured as they impacted with the grenades, leaving the open doorway looking ominous in all of its blood, bone, and tissue-covered exterior.

Vincent tried not to think of it as murder, but moving things to use to improve his own accuracy. He knew what he was doing on some level, but he was choosing not to deal with it until he had the time and knew how he felt about it. To acknowledge it during the fighting...it could mean withdrawal from what needed to be done. The last thing he needed was to die because he had went and gotten philosophical over killing people who would kill him, given the chance.

Another of the enemies was dropped, just as the flash of his sword was moving toward the back of a SOLDIER. Vincent released the breath he had been holding, his shaky and sweaty adrenaline-filled grip loosening on the rifle.

Vincent realized he'd finished the clip, and pulled the last magazine from his belt. It was another twelve shots (it was a modified weapon), which given how many enemies there were, wasn't all that much. But the bullets were going slowly, as the men in black had become aware that being in front of the brick building or anywhere nearby made them a target to the unseen sniper or the flying grenades.

"Put that clip down."

Vincent visibly flinched. The voice had come from behind him, and in his rush to pull out the old clip and latch in the second, he must have missed the person coming up the stairs, or they had been particularly quiet. Whoever it was must have rounded from behind the building then snuck in through a back entrance where Vincent wasn't able to see them.

He should have been paying closer attention.

"Throw it down on the floor or I'll shoot you in the back!" the intruder threatened.

Vincent sighed internally, the black magazine held in one of his small hands. He could hear whoever it was behind him, stepping closer. It would take too much time to load the gun and get off a shot without ending up with a bullet in his back. His leg wasn't exactly in the greatest condition for spinning around quickly either. Vincent dropped the clip to the floor as instructed, where it landed loudly.

"Turn now!"

Vincent moved around slowly, upon instinct, as he knew being too swift might prompt whoever it was to attack him or shoot. There was a chance that he might be able to get them to talk while he thought of something....

When Vincent looked upon the face, he could feel his entire body stiffen in hatred. Fear, which Vincent had avoided for the most part, flooded into his overloaded system. His grip on the antique desk was tight, as he held his unstable body steady.

"Johns..." Vincent said dangerously.

Something was incredibly wrong. Vincent could tell even in the near darkness that Johns was...different. The veins protruding from his thick neck looked too dark to be healthy, as though they were pumping something through the man's veins that wasn't blood.... His eyes were positively glowing, more so than even mako was capable of causing.

John's whole body was larger than before, burlier. It was like an improved version, but one that upon appearance, seemed to focus only upon strength and nothing else. The flimsy shirt the man wore was soaked from the rain, sticking to a bulging body that was far too muscular to be normal. His skin held a bluish tinge that reminded Vincent of a corpse. In his large hand he held an oversized handgun, which he brandished at Vincent, holding it aimed at the boy's face.

"Hello, Vincent," Johns said cheerfully, the remnants of the rain dripping off of his hair and trailing down his face like misplaced tears.

"What are you doing here?" Vincent asked, sensing the obvious malevolence that was radiating off of the man like heat from a fire.

"I came to kill you. You are, after all, stopping the resistence. Can't have that."

"You're with the resistence?" Vincent said quietly, glad that the man seemed more than willing to talk.

He couldn't take Johns on physically, not with his broken leg, but getting shot up close with a .50 caliber would be more than enough damage to kill Johns, leaving him with a nice, gaping hole.... But the gun was so heavy and awkward that he knew it would be hard to maneuver quickly enough for Johns not to be able to stop him beforehand...and the clip.... If he had just loaded the damned rifle sooner.... Even so, it was likely that Johns would have been able to shoot him first. It was a no win situation for the time being. That somehow placated the part of Vincent that was shrinking away at the thought of dying. At least he would know that it had been virtually inevitable.

"Sure. I was angry about being shipped off like a damned object."

Johns took a few steps closer with a surprising stealth that didn't match his physical appearance in the least. Definitely enhanced, and probably not just with mako....

Vincent did not move from his place, staring Johns down defiantly. The man moved right next to him, holding the gun in warning before roughly grabbing the discarded clip from the floor. He then took a few measured steps backward, his smile triumphant. Vincent's gaze turned steely.

"SOLDIER doesn't appreciate those who only have enough confidence to threaten something weaker than them," Vincent commented cooly, his maroon eyes giving away his anger with their constant glimmer.

Johns laughed, his head lolling back strangely, looking somewhat deformed when examined in cohesion with his over-large body.

"What, you think that fuck Sephiroth fights fairly? Everything is weaker than him. He's as much of a bully as anyone else, yet because he's so damned high and mighty he gets away with it," Johns stated, still laughing.

He said the name "Sephiroth" in such a disrespectful way that Vincent's eyes narrowed angrily.

"The General never kills because he wants to cause pain; he isn't sick like you..." Vincent whispered, his voice calm as he tried to focus on being as unreadable as Sephiroth. "He kills only what he has to, and everyone in his charge is treated fairly, never belittled for their weaknesses. All you do is target anything smaller than you and take joy in hurting it so that you don't have to feel as useless as you are."

"You little shit..." Johns growled, moving even closer with the handgun extended, though again Vincent did not show any visible concern and stayed rooted where he was.

"What, you don't like being told the truth?" Vincent said with a smirk.

"Fuck Sephiroth!" Johns shouted, "and fuck you too!" His hands went behind his back, as though in an attempt to not reach out and strangle Vincent. "Hojo was right..."

Vincent couldn't hide his surprise, but said nothing, hoping Johns would be stupid as he always was and keep talking.

"You're all just slaves doing what you're told. But I'm not a slave! I'm better than all of you!" Johns yelled, coming within inches of Vincent's face.

He was so close that Vincent could smell his putrid breath and turned his face to the side so he wouldn't have to breathe the same sickening air.

"Hojo altered you..." Vincent said, drawing the words into a shaky conclusion.

"Of course he did," Johns answered. "He gave me the power I needed..." Johns clenched one of his fists, watching the bulging veins in his arms with open fascination. "He cares. He wanted to help me when no one else would."

"Hojo cares for no one," Vincent said with certainty. "He was just using you to experiment on. You're nothing but a puppet to someone like him."

Though Vincent knew little of Hojo, he'd seen enough of the broadcasted feeds that had gotten Hojo fired to know that the man was mentally sick. The things he had done...they were so inhumane that Vincent didn't even consider Hojo to be a human being. The man was nothing but a monster. For someone like Johns though, Hojo was probably easy to look up to.

"Don't you dare talk about him like that!" Johns said viciously, swinging the side of the handgun directly into Vincent's face without warning. Vincent had seen it coming, but had not been able to move out of the way fast enough due to his leg.

He was knocked hard into the desk that had been supporting him, his back slamming into the stacked books and toppling the rifle onto its side. He didn't fall, managing to keep on his feet by gripping onto the edge of the wood with his hands. He could taste the coppery blood that filled his mouth from the soft tissue of his inner cheek being cut from hitting against his molars. His cheek throbbed just below his eye, the pain vivid. He refused to whimper or make any noise from the blow. He would not let Johns win.

"Hojo is better than all of you!" Johns asserted, his glowing eyes flashing. "He's a great man...and he was betrayed by Shinra just like I was. You're just too stupid to see, you slave. It's all just like he said...." Johns looked visibly insane, his smile broad and toothy, detached somehow, not quite right.... He was waving the chrome gun around with a flourish.

"Hojo is insane," Vincent said quietly, ignoring the biting pain that made him want to close his eye.

"No, no...Hojo is fucking smart, it's you people that are insane!" Johns answered, his tone filled with venom.

Johns had started to pace, his movements suddenly twitchy, uncontrolled.

"You're insane. Hojo went and poisoned you...."

"No! No, no, no, no, nononononono!!!!!! It was Sephiroth, that twisted fuck! He did it, he did it ALL!" Johns's eyes were changing, their glow going from yellowish to reddish. "He's crazy! That stupid fuck! He thought he could get rid of me, thought that you, a weak little Third was better than me! But I showed him...I fucking showed him...."

Johns was far more unstable than ever, likely a consequence of Hojo's influence and the result of whatever experimentation had turned him into the bulky, veined giant that he was. Vincent could see that the man was getting very upset by the conversation, and that his waning control over his sanity was quite weak to begin with. Nearly non-existent.

"I was smart...I was good.... I waited just like Hojo said! I got you sent here...I changed up the lists so I could get my revenge! They didn't even know! They never even knew I left! HA!" Johns grinned insanely, looking over to Vincent, who only glowered. "They were so blind they never realized I switched sides!"

Vincent said nothing, though his brow furrowed underneath his veil of damp black hair. Johns was clearly losing it, pacing ever faster, making a small circuit as he ranted. Vincent's hand had begun to travel backward across the glossed desk, looking for anything. Vincent kept his eyes on Johns, making sure the man wasn't looking at him closely enough to notice what he was doing.

* * *

The aged man could hear the shouting coming from the darkened building, the same one that he guessed that the well-aimed shots had originated. It had taken time to get away from the thick of the fighting, but the SOLDIERs were beginning to feel the strain of so many enemies all at once. Their resistance stood a chance after all.

The bearded man smiled from behind his purple cloak.

They had waited so long. Shinra, the tyrant, taking their lands, raping their women, exploiting all of them. Parading around like Wutai was but a trophy to add to an already immense collection. The company and its SOLDIERs cared nothing for their people, nothing for their ways, which were rooted in hundreds of years of tradition, passed down generation to generation.... Even if the uprising did not succeed, they would leave a permanent mark on Shinra, of that the old warlock was certain. They would settle for nothing less should Wutai have to fall.

The world around him was blacker than ever as he moved between the buildings with a practiced grace. Age did not seem to hinder his movements, but perfect them. His staff was held in his wrinkled, yet firm hand, comforting, deadly. He had learned all he knew from those before him, a knowledge based on patience and inherited skill. Something mere SOLDIERs couldn't possibly understand in their mindless raging murder....

The sniper had taken out quite a few. The firing had stopped for the last few minutes, but it was no bother, as he knew that the person was on the upper floor of the old shop. He could sense another presence as well, but did not concern himself over it; it read like another SOLDIER. He allowed himself another dark smile from behind the hood that shadowed his features.

Everything that had a beginning...had an end.

* * *

Johns was still going on as the building shook suddenly, all the glass objects in the room clinking together. The desk Vincent was leaning against even moved, rattling the rifle and everything else. There had been a loud noise as well, like a muffled boom against the wall. Johns ceased his ranting for the moment, looking up at the ceiling and around at the room. His gaze finally went to the window that Vincent had been shooting from earlier. A weird glow had flickered outside for a moment.

Vincent turned to look, simultaneously hobbling a few steps away from the desk. Johns pointed the gun at him, his look threatening. Vincent stopped moving forward, his maroon eyes wide, as he glanced back to the window. Whatever it had been, it couldn't be good....

The building quaked again, but this time the wall came rushing into the room abruptly, blown to bits by the force of whatever had hit it. It was so unexpected and powerful, that Vincent was sent crashing to the floor in a flurry of sawdust and rubble, his hands bracing him from the floor. The pain that shot through him was instantaneous and overwhelming, making him acknowledge that it all was in fact, happening. The rubbish that had landed on him was mostly on his legs, but some had fallen on his back as well.

Though he was covered in bits of wood and siding and he hurt more than words could describe, Vincent instinctively began to advance forward, crawling on his hands and trying to pry himself from underneath all of the debris that had just piled on top of him. It was extremely difficult to move with so much weight bearing down on him, but he struggled with all of the strength he could summon. He would be trapped if he didn't get out of the way.... Someone was blowing the building apart, trying to kill them....

Johns screamed out in rage, moving toward the stairs just as the structure was hit a third time. He never did make it all the way down the staircase.

The ceiling began to cave with a creak, bits of powdery drywall breaking off and raining down on Vincent as the fissure that was created began to move along, splintering off like tributaries. _No! _He shouted from inside his head. _How could this be happening?_

Vincent wanted to curse the world for having something inherently against him, for never giving him a chance.

He moved faster, trying to get even a few more feet, just as the cracked roof was hit with another swell of something blindingly bright, and everything came tumbling and crashing down....


	11. Death All Around

**A/N:** I'm sorry for giving you another cliffhanger this chapter...really. I was gone all day and didn't get to write until late (9:00 at night), and only did so because I appreciate you all so much for your encouragement. And not to mention I got WAY too carried away with the fight scenes. :D As I'm prone to.

I got so many reviews, I'm so freakin' proud! Thanks to: **whatevergirl**, **hitsuni**, **KT**, **NicotineGum**, **Anonymous**, **minoki**, **Risikaa**, **Kyuubi-ismy-homie**, and **OvenBased**. I got this chapter out for all of you when I was tired and delirious and felt like sleeping.

* * *

The slight mist of rain had transformed into a full-force storm.

The SOLDIERs worked tirelessly to maintain what little control was left to them in the towns while they warred violently back at the makeshift base as the resistance attempted to overthrow their tormentors, even if it was only temporary.

It appeared that the people of Wutai were struggling to make a last stand of sorts. Amongst the sea of men in black, were the clear signs of the smaller fallen empires, heralds marking their uniforms like badges of rebellion.

What had seemed so small and insignificant at first, proved to be far worse than even the most doom and gloom prophets could predict. Wave after wave of unorganized guerillas and stragglers seemed to keep coming, cut down only to be replaced, as the new, fresh men arrived over land to take their places.

The two hundred SOLDIERs that were stationed had already begun to dwindle. Reenforcements from Shinra had yet to arrive due to the oncoming storm that was brewing its swirling clouds of grey thickly over the moon, smothering what light it had previously provided.

Bleakness, that was what moved over the buildings ominously, spreading its hopelessness over the few SOLDIERs (mainly Firsts) who were still fighting relentlessly, their swords bathed in the blood of the rebels.

Alister was surrounded by enemies, having long ago discovered that Vincent was not in the hospital, or anywhere to be found. He had ceased to worry about anything except keeping alive, maintaining what little troops were left to defend what had come to belong to Shinra through the currency of spilt lifeblood.

Everyone was dead. Jack was dead; Alister found his friend face down in the muddy chaos with some sort of burn mark on his back, void of a pulse, eyes glazed when he lifted the man's head gently from the messy ground. Every friend he had at the base seemed to have been impaled on the tanto or katana of one of the nameless, faceless enemies. It happened so quickly that Alister had no time to grieve, no time to think.... He was on autopilot and the world was falling down all around.

* * *

"It's going to be a rough landing!" Reno screamed through the background noise of the raging storm.

Water was literally falling in sheets off of the sides of the copter, the blades having to work overtime to keep the machine above the ground. The cold night air rushed through the open doorways, chilling the three men inside to the point that the pilot was visibly shivering in his dampened blue suit.

"Shit!"

The helicopter was precariously moving above the ground, teetering like a helpless toy as the wind struck it carelessly and maliciously.

They weren't supposed to be flying. The helicopters that had followed behind them only ten minutes after had been forced to stop near Costa del Sol, as the pilots would not risk the insane waves that rolled over the ocean and that wrathful weather that would have to be endured all the way to the island of Wutai.

Angeal and Zack were among the ones whose progress had been halted, as were all the other troops that were coming to assist the nearly fallen base. Going by ship would take far too long, and even with the brigade waiting out the storm for hours on end, they would easily make better time than anything on the water.

Reno was the only pilot who dared to keep going, even as the ocean roiled and frothed below the tiny helicopter, threatening to reach up at them or swallow them were they to venture too close. Spurred on by the murky calmness of Sephiroth and the quiet encouragement of Rude, Reno had managed not to crash them into the living, breathing ocean.

However, he had not gotten away unscathed. Reno had cursed himself hoarse, and even the stoical Rude had seemed unnerved by the uncertainty of the machine as it fought against the onslaught of rain and harsh wind.

Sephiroth had said nothing, his eyes always on the water that rolled and swayed beneath them, its color appearing black because of the darkness of the night.

Genesis had always claimed that Sephiroth's eyes were the color of the ocean during a storm, where the darker depths were pushed to the surface, aquamarine and emerald meshing together in disharmony.

And perhaps that was how they looked as the General watched the fast-approaching ground and his keen senses caught the pungent, unmistakable scent of blood mixing in with the earthy smell of the rain.

* * *

The remaining SOLDIERs had retreated back to the base, using its familiarity as an asset as they fought off the resistance.

Most of the Thirds were dead, their smaller bodies laying where they had died in the mud.

Death was everywhere, blood and entrails the constant reminder as the SOLDIERs and rebels tripped over the bodies of the fallen, their boots becoming slicked with the reddened mud. The metallic sound of sword striking sword was nearly all that could be heard over the screams of the dying and the shouts of warning as men tried to communicate to one another through the noise of war.

Alister was with four others. They stood close to one another, using their numbers to protect each other from being killed or wounded and to stave off the larger force.

None saw the General approach, Masamune drawn as he cut himself a course to the handful of survivors who were riddled throughout the decimated base.

A slash and a body fell. A perfect execution, an expressionless executioner. The overlong sword moved with a quick, almost indiscernible gleam, bringing life to death with each powerful strike.

Green eyes assessed, then sword cut, a dangerous combination of experience and instinct melding into one, creating the animal-like skill for slaughter.

It was still dark, but the grey, angry clouds held a lightness behind them now, revealing the approaching dawn that would rise up behind the melancholy, stifled in brightness, but still present.

It had been a long while since Sephiroth had felt such elation.... The sight of so many who would challenge him all at once, it awakened the darker parts of him that he often was prone to keep hidden. There was a definite feeling of being overwhelmed, which was something the General rarely got to experience anymore. Fighting one on one was far different from slashing one's way through a crowd of enemies, where at any moment an unseen sword could puncture flesh.

It was likely the danger of fighting in such tight quarters that made Sephiroth come to life. There was threat; it was not the easiness of judging only one enemy at once then acting accordingly. In this sort of fighting there was barely time to assess anything. Instinct and reflex outdid anything experience could provide. It was...a beautiful mental chaos, where luck was just as important as skill. A life was but a coin toss.

Droplets of blood sprayed through the heavy rain, splattering anyone close enough, while Masamune's blood groove filled with a thin maroon river, only to be rinsed and purified seconds after, evidence washed into the mud.

Sephiroth hit one of the men with his gloved fist, sending the black-clad figure sprawling out onto the squishy ground with the sheer force. With an easy elegance, the long, deadly sword descended down onto the fallen man.

The General was close enough that one of the Firsts had seen him and alerted the others. Even the more experience SOLDIERs took a minute to gape as the silver-haired man in the flowing black coat took down three enemies with a single studied stroke, the ridiculously long blade catching onto each and sending the bodies flying to the earth in a crumpled heap.

Sephiroth was nearly lost in the heat of his desire to cause pain, to end life. He had seen the bodies of the Thirds, and now the enemy was paying doubly for those unfortunate sacrifices. He did not take the time to allow himself to wonder just who had died, and reflect upon how it was all in vain. He did not even notice the SOLDIERs who glanced at him in every spare second, he only had eyes for the figures that kept approaching, daring to defy his will, daring to try to take his life in exchange for their own. They would all lose. They would all fall.

Alister watched in morbid fascination as the General got closer and closer, each enemy more like target practice than an actual trial.

Though the Wutai were well-suited to the sword, in the face of a pissed off General with a six foot blade, they were just objects to be cut down and tossed aside. Insignificant. It was a power to be envied, a skill to be aspired to. It was like watching the god of war descend upon the battlefield to interact with the unskilled and mediocre mortals.

* * *

The General had not gone unnoticed by the enemy. The bearded man had made his way toward Sephiroth, his staff held defiantly in his hand, his face obscured by the darkness and the hood that kept his eyes from the torrential rain.

He was off in the black shadows, watching. Two of his best were by his side, their eyes taking in the moving super SOLDIER in the dim lighting of the base, as he relentlessly released his fury on anyone within a ten foot radius.

"Will you kill him, master?" one of the personal guards asked after a moment.

"Yes..." came the quiet reply, as ancient brown eyes glinted from beneath the purple hood.

It was even better than expected. The weather was keeping Shinra from responding to the resistance properly. But somehow the General had managed to get to the island anyway. Now here he was, with perfect timing....

Raphael knew much of the legendary General Sephiroth. It was the same man who his own master had fallen to five years previous. The same silver-haired tyrant slave that cleaned up Shinra's most...telling...messes. The same General Sephiroth who had brought Wutai finally, and unwillingly to its knees in reluctant, hateful servitude.

The General had to die.

* * *

Sephiroth responded to the electric ball of energy long before he had time to even consider who or what had sent it his way.

With a quick movement of his sword to block the attack of one of the men in black, Sephiroth sent his own answering sphere of glowing, unstable energy from his right hand.

Yellow and blue impacted with an incredible explosion, the globular result imploding outwards with a magnitude that made the earth shake and sent many stumbling for balance. The mud just below the orb had instantly dried and cracked, scorched black by the white-hot heat.

The enemies near Sephiroth quickly began to disperse, moving further and further away as the old man with the staff approached. They seemed to be well aware of who the figure was, and respectfully cleared the man a path.

The SOLDIERs had seen the strange movement of their enemy, but had no time to think on it, as fighting recommenced a good distance from where the silver-haired General and the cloaked Raphael stood.

Sephiroth only waited, sword held limply at his side in blatant disregard for his enemy.

"So you are the _great_ General Sephiroth?" the old man stated, gesturing in Sephiroth's direction with his free hand.

The two guards spaced themselves out on either side of their master, both watching Sephiroth intently from beneath their blood-red hooded coverings.

Sephiroth said nothing, instead answering with three blue slashes sent directly for the old man without warning. They thundered loudly over the ground, slicing through the air as they advanced.

With a strong force field they were easily blocked offhandedly by Raphael, fading away harmlessly. It was no surprise to the General who had done it on purpose to make it clear that he was not in the mood to talk.

"Fine, if that is how you prefer it. I would not expect civility from a brute," Raphael said with a cruel laugh.

"I would not want to force you to feign respect for me. You hate me, and you have the right. But this is war, not a diplomatic call," Sephiroth stated calmly, just as he sent flurry of deadly blue lines hurtling for the sorcerer.

"You admit to it then?" Raphael asked, as he and his two acolytes blocked Sephiroth's attack.

"You killed my SOLDIERs. That is the only reason I am here," Sephiroth said in a placid monotone, though his sea green eyes revealed a withheld anger.

In his left hand he continued to hold Masamune, while between his hands he began to form another blue orb, which flickered brightly, sparks flashing about its exterior as it continued to build and flow with more power. The rain that fell on it sizzled and evaporated, sending up little serpentine wisps of steam.

The acolytes nervously anticipated the attack, while Raphael seemed to shrug it off, continuing to talk.

"So you fight for nothing? Nothing but the lives of your men?" The man chuckled darkly in the same moment Sephiroth released the ball of heat, which streamed so quickly toward him that it seemed unstoppable.

Raphael's staff was out in front of him just as it seemed the energy would strike, the two acolytes trying in vain to deflect it with their own spells, but to no avail. Suddenly it stopped, halted just in front of Raphael, hovering.

Sephiroth's eyes narrowed, as the orb began to swirl. Without warning it began to move with swift, nearly unseeable speed, a blue blur heading straight back for the General. Sephiroth easily took to the air without thought, floating several feet above the ground as the magic came rushing toward him.

What he did next made Raphael's look turn bitter.

In a deft slash, Masamune separated the sphere, sending two pieces spiraling on either side of Sephiroth. They completely missed their target only to crash into the ground, sending a spray of sizzling, smoking mud flying and causing the unmistakable smell of fire to resonate from the burnt earth.

* * *

Vincent coughed, feeling a strange ache deep within his chest, while every inch of him protested from the movement. Dust and particles clouded the area directly in front of his face for a moment before floating toward the rubble and finally settling. It was so dark, however, that Vincent didn't see it, he could only taste what had flown into his mouth.

He couldn't move. At all. Even his head was trapped, stuck at an odd, sideways angle that was making his neck throb. He didn't exactly notice, however, given that his left arm was causing him such agony that tears had already formed at the corners of his eyes, though he had only been conscious mere seconds.

The leg in the cast was more painful than ever, as was his free leg, which had not made it through the ordeal unscathed.

He was under the rubble...it was piled on top of him. The roof had caved in.

The realization made Vincent swallow painfully, his maroon eyes searching the darkness in vain. He was trapped, all alone. No one but Jack knew where he was.... But he was alive, he was still breathing, just trapped.

Vincent decided to try and shift, though he knew it wouldn't do much good. But if he could move just enough.... His right arm, which seemed uninjured for the most part, was caught underneath him, tingling and numb from the tremendous weight of everything that was on top of him as well as his own body weight. If he could just free it....

With a groan of extreme pain and instant loss of breath, Vincent moved his torso just a few inches. Everything above him shifted, small pieces of debris falling and landing across his pale cheeks and in his hair. Vincent coughed again from the dust, his mind working on a solution.

Moving was not the greatest idea. He had no way of knowing how much of the building was stacked precariously on top of him, and if he moved wrong, what if it came down and crushed him further?

But moving was the only option. Maybe if he could get his hand out he could get to the cell phone in the pocket of his uniform, if it still worked, anyway....

As for his left arm, whatever was wrong with it was not good, because already he was starting to lose complete feeling in it. There was something wet and sticky underneath his elbow and he couldn't feel his hand at all, which said quite a bit....

* * *

The world had lightened considerably, now tones of grey instead of black. The sun had risen behind the seemingly impervious clouds.

Sephiroth was holding his own, having already disposed of one of the acolytes, which had sent Raphael attacking with a newborn rage.

Sephiroth had only said quietly, "One of yours for one of mine."

Raphael was a talented sorcerer. He had already struck the General twice with well-aimed bursts of energy, which drained Sephiroth's endurance, weakening him and causing minor burns underneath his black coat. But Sephiroth showed no outward response to the hits, only doubling his own efforts to catch the old man unawares.

It was by sword that the aged sorcerer met his end.

Sephiroth deflected the rush of fire that came toward him, sending it careening into a nearby building where it hit with a crackling boom, the flames licking up the side of the wall.

Raphael attacked again, as did his acolyte, both sending frenzied, electrified spheres moving in slithering waves through the air.

The General lashed through them easily with Masamune, which glowed from being infused with Sephiroth's own energy.

Sephiroth had been moving ever closer, throwing his own attacks relentlessly, and just as Raphael sent another powerful attack, the General threw Masamune, spear-like, and still glittering and sparking with a fury.

The old man was distracted by the new orb Sephiroth had already sent. He turned just as his acolyte shouted out a warning, the blade already destined for his body. Raphael did not have time to block it.

The sword impaled him with ease, the force frighteningly powerful and coursing with energy. It hit so hard and the blade was so heated, that it went directly through the man's stomach, handle and all, melting flesh effortlessly. It landed a few feet away, upright in the mud---triumphant---handle painted with blood.

Raphael crumpled instantaneously, his wrinkled hands descending to his stomach as he stared at Sephiroth in complete disbelief. His eyes darkened beneath his hood with a grudging respect and at the same time, a deep hatred. He looked down at his hands, which were bloody for a few seconds before the substance was washed away by the constant downpour of rain.

The acolyte had rushed to his master, kneeling in the filthy mud to clutch at the man's shoulders.

"Master...master...oh master....Pleaseplease...don't die...."

Sephiroth made no move to attack, but stood by ominously, observing for several misplaced minutes. His expression was unreadable.

Masamune's glow had finally ceased, the sword nothing but wicked metal again, winking at him from somewhere behind the fallen sorcerer.

As the sorcerer began to die, the acolyte continued to cry over him. The old man must have whispered consoling words, because the young man had stopped whimpering so terribly.

Sephiroth walked passed the two slowly, the acolyte cowering yet glaring at him through a face covered in rain and tears.

"You...You fight for nothing...." the old man said in challenge, looking at Sephiroth from over his guard's shoulder.

Sephiroth stopped, turning to face the old man, his silver hair hanging around him in wet, tangled locks.

"I fight for my SOLDIERs. All else matters none," the General answered quietly, his voice cold.

"You kill because Shinra asks you to!" Raphael accused, his breathing heavy.

The acolyte tried to calm him, stroking his face lovingly, but the old man would have none of it.

His hood had shifted, revealing his ancient, wizened face. His brown eyes held a distinctive anger, one that Sephiroth knew came from years of being withheld, hidden. It was the same look that he knew to be in his own eyes at times.

"Yes."

"You don't care who you have to kill, you just do it," the old man said venomously, his voice cracking.

The acolyte was watching the General suspiciously, his grip tight on the staff that his master had dropped. His young face was twisted with disgust and loathing most particularly since the General was making his master so upset.

"It is a world of war; the fighting never ceases. Whether I am the one to fight for it or against it, it makes no difference. It will happen again and again and again."

The General looked to the ground in reflection of his own words, sea green swirling with emotion.

"It doesn't have to be that way..." Raphael protested, staring hatefully at the man who would be the cause of his death.

Sephiroth laughed. The sound was so bitter and dry that Raphael's brow furrowed.

"Peace? You believe such a thing possible? We live in a world of monsters, a place where the only thing aspired to is more power. We repeat our mistakes, willingly.... And I repeat my own because I know that in the end, in the scheme of this hell, what I do is of no consequence. There will be a thousand more to come, to spread more ruin and more destruction after I am gone," Sephiroth stated, his smile humorless and emotionless.

"No...I don't believe it...Y–you are wrong.... We could save so many, help so many...." Raphael was weakening considerably, the pool of reddish water a testament.

"And more will come and kill them anyway," Sephiroth said tonelessly. "You are a fool for believing otherwise."

Sephiroth did not wait for Raphael to reply, but turned away toward his abandoned sword.

He left the old man dying in the mud.


	12. The Choice

**A/N:** I have such awesome readers and reviewers :D Thanks to **Tiny Koala**, **KT**, **NicotineGum**, **CornCob**, **Lia**, **whatevergirl**, **RedHerring1412**, **Anonymous**, **minoki**, **DuoAkira**, and **Kyuubi-ismy-homie**! I keep wanting to slack off and only post every few days, but then I would feel terrible.... Anyway, enough of my whining. I love that you guys keep guessing what's going to happen! It's so fun to sit back and laugh sadistically because I already know, being the author and all....

Depressing/dark chapter ahead. Damn when are we going to get to the sex? I'm such a staller....

* * *

The battle raged on through the early morning and into midmorning. So many had fallen, but it was clear that the strongest were still fighting on, covered now in sweat instead of rain. Though the storm seemed to have passed for the moment, clouds still covered the sky in grey uncertainty, locking in the humidity over the tired bodies.

The brigade had arrived about four hours after Sephiroth, looking anticipatory and fresh. There were many Seconds that had come along, some never having been to war. Though they were excited on the flight over, as soon as they stepped onto the muddy soil of Wutai, many faces fell. There was little to be excited about upon seeing such a picture of destruction and violence.

Bodies strewn like a carpet of the dead. Not only the enemy, but SOLDIERs, some who had barely even made their way out of adolescence, which was clear from their childlike forms versus the toned, muscular bodies of the older SOLDIERs who had died alongside them.

Zack, one of the few who had remained serious in mood, couldn't help but feel a sense of devastation. Angeal's large hand landed on his shoulder reassuringly as the man walked by. Zack gave a halfhearted smile, his mako blue eyes staring out at the sad state of the town. There was little time to dwell, however, given that fighting could be heard even from the far off distance of the makeshift landing pad.

Sephiroth's silver hair had slowly dried, left unruly from the overwhelming humidity as it floated about his waist. His thick leather coat stuck to his body wherever he was sweating, and was flecked with droplets of fresh blood that ran down in lines with every movement.

Perhaps it was his appearance that made the newly arrived SOLDIERs' expressions fill with insecurity. They stood in organized lines, watching their General as he gave a quiet overview of the current situation and the consequential actions that were to be taken by the new brigade.

He was confident, collected, as always, but there was something about the dark glimmer in his eyes that made the SOLDIERs listen even more raptly than they were ever disposed to, even with him (who they always listened to intently). It was like watching a predator as the man took a few steps to the side, eyes flitting through the lineup with an assessing, though hurried gaze.

With each movement the black coat caught about his legs, enemy blood visibly trickling down onto the sticky mud at his feet. His sword did not leave his hand, even though they were a ways off from the immediate threat. Sephiroth was like a caged beast that was waiting intently to be released again, already having tasted the blood and determined to let more of it flow copiously—that is if it could get the damned waiting over with.

Finally he dismissed them to another First after a few brief words of encouragement that even to him sounded somewhat hollow. He turned to go back to the field, only to be halted by Zack Fair.

"Hey, Sephiroth!" Zack said rather loudly, his footsteps quick as he made up for a bit of distance then began to match the General's quick pace.

"Fair," Sephiroth answered curtly, though his eyes met Zack's to show that he was listening. He hadn't meant to sound so cold.

"Have you seen Vincent? I haven't been over to the base yet, but I thought since you've been here awhile you might know..."

Zack looked visibly troubled, his face paler than was typical and somewhat colorless. There was a feeling of desperation to him, as his eyes kept darting to the bodies that they passed while walking.

Zack was scared. He had seen so many Thirds dead already, and he had not even been to the base where the majority of the battle had been taking place. It seemed almost impossible that Vincent could have survived. But Zack didn't want to think about it; more than anything he just wanted to hear Sephiroth say Vincent was barricaded off somewhere, or in the company of a few Firsts, perfectly safe.

"I haven't seen him, Zack," Sephiroth said, his expression changing visibly to concern.

Sephiroth had thought more than once about Private Valentine. It had been glaringly obvious to him during the fighting that Valentine was conspicuously absent, just as many of the other Thirds. However, in the middle of an all-out war, finding one SOLDIER was low on his list of priorities, even if it did plague his conscience. In truth he had to ensure the safety and well-being of the Firsts who were holding the small group together before anyone else, but that didn't mean he didn't regret not being readily available for the lower ranked SOLDIERs.

Valentine was likely dead. Sephiroth had already spoken with a few of the Seconds who were left, and none had known where Valentine might be. He had actually planned to ask a few others, which was why he had been in such a rush to get back to the thick of the fighting. Now that there were reenforcements, much of the strain would be gone. It would give him time to arrange for other things and perhaps get an idea of how many had been lost.

"Oh..." Zack frowned, his eyes somewhat glassy. "Alright."

"I was going to search for him, as well as some of the other Thirds. If he's alive I will find him," Sephiroth stated, trying to sound reassuring.

Zack nodded, biting at his lower lip. "He's a good SOLDIER," he said in a near whisper. "I hope he's okay."

* * *

Vincent groaned in absolute pain, wriggling his fingers as he tried to yank his arm out from underneath his body and toward his side. It should have been an easy endeavor, but he was surrounded by heavy drywall and roofing on every side, his body wedged so tightly that he had fears of never being able to get out.

He had already blacked out once. He wasn't sure how much time had passed; it could have been minutes, it could have been hours. He had been trying to free his leg from whatever was pressing down on it so damn hard, only to get lightheaded from the exertion. He had continued to try and free himself, but after so many attempts he had finally ceased to move when everything shifted again. Vincent was exhausted from continually bearing so much pain for such an extended period (however long that was...). He had rested for a few brief moments, then just as he tried again, he must have fainted.

It was lighter, that much he could tell. He had a feeling it was no longer night, because the shadows had faded into a lesser black that wasn't so overbearing. That meant that maybe the surface wasn't horribly far. He could make out the rubble that was around him, the distinctive shapes of splintered boards with jagged nails sticking out from their surface. Big sheets of white drywall and fluffy tufts of insulation were littered everywhere. His eyes had grown somewhat accustomed to the darkness.

Vincent was feeling weak, extraordinarily so. He didn't seem to be bleeding anymore, but he guessed that he had lost a substantial amount of blood and that his body was beginning to shut down because of it. Breathing hurt, moving sent pain rushing to every part of his damaged body. And the debris...it was just so heavy, weighing down on top of him.

He knew he didn't have long; his body was giving all the signals of complete abandonment to fate. But Vincent did not want to give in. He had barely lived at all...he didn't want to die. He wasn't _ready_ to die.

With a whimper, his hand was finally freed. It was stiff and sore, but felt alright otherwise. He couldn't really look at it or anything, as even putting it in front of his face was nearly impossible in the cramped hole he was in, and besides the fact that it was too dark to see it much anyway.

Earlier when he had tried to move his arm out from underneath him, he hadn't been able to do it; everything had been too closed in and there had been far too much pressure from everything piled above. When he moved his leg right before he passed out, it must have moved something, because it had seemed so much easier the recent try.

The cell phone. If it wasn't crushed maybe he could use it....

His hand snaked down his side, catching on a rusted, exposed nail. Vincent winced, moving more slowly, his fingers feeling for his pocket.

He was incredibly lucky that the phone was on his right side, otherwise he might not have been able to reach it.

His fingers latched onto the warm plastic triumphantly. He couldn't tell what shape it was in from the surface, but it seemed to be in one piece at least.

After some grunts of pain and a bit of a struggle, Vincent had the phone right in front of his face. When he flipped it open, the blue light from the screen lit up his small hovel, perhaps a little too clearly. Vincent tried not to look at the pool of dark red that came from somewhere near his trapped left arm and disappeared underneath the rubble. There was so much blood....

The face of the cell phone was cracked, the liquid-like screen bruised in spots, though it still seemed to be capable of working.

At least there was some hope.

* * *

"Hello?" Alister said, off to the side of the majority of the fighting.

He hadn't even had time to check who had called, he simply flipped the phone open, watching his surroundings carefully to make sure no one had the opportunity to catch him while he was distracted.

"Alister..." It was Vincent's voice, harsh and etched with unmistakable pain.

"Vincent? Are you alright? Where are you?" Alister recognized the voice immediately, his gut clenching. "I thought...fuck, I thought you were dead...I looked everywhere...."

"I'm in the antiques shop," Vincent said shortly, trying not to go into a fit of coughing.

"What?" Alister covered over his left ear. "I can't hear you. You're going to have to repeat that Vincent."

"Antiques shop..." Vincent muttered, letting out a loud sigh of pain. Speaking physically hurt.

"The one that caved in?" Alister asked incredulously as he remembered the only pawn shop in town.

"I'm under it..." Vincent said, his maroon eyes darting around his less than pleasant surroundings.

"Fuck, I'll be right there."

* * *

Sephiroth was standing near the brick building in the center of town, his face for once revealing a deep sense of regret, sadness even. So many were dead...most of them incredibly young.

The General was no stranger to death; it did not impact him the way it did others. He openly accepted it and rarely found reason to fear or hate it. At times...it was for the best.

Streets full of dead young SOLDIERs, however, were not for the best. It was Shinra, their complete lack of regard for the group of individuals who had made the company so exceedingly powerful.

Sephiroth had never been one to question his job; it was but a living, something that catered to what came naturally to him: murder. His scruples were few. Conscience was not something a killer could allow to take hold. It had grown easier with time to become more distant. It was difficult still, it would likely always be, but it did not break him to cut himself off as it did others. He was inclined to take on such responsibility; it was part of who he was.

But in times such as these, with the inexperienced purged of life for the sake of greed...a biting anger rose up inside of him. He could deal with the death, he could deal with the cold blooded slaughter he carried out, but what struck him hardest was seeing such incredible waste that he felt partially responsible for. He was the icon of Shinra, yet his word had not been enough to stop the imminent disaster he had predicted.

They were dead, lost. And yes, he believed his own words to the old man: they were all going to die anyway. Even so, the fact that their lives had been part of his responsibility cut him deeply.

This was not the way things should have been.

Sephiroth was torn from his thoughts by the sound of footsteps over the muddied ground. They were approaching very quickly, sounding almost panicky to his keen hearing. He drew his sword more out of reflex than anticipation, allowing the blade to rest lazily at his side.

His posture relaxed somewhat as he saw a SOLDIER come around the corner. The man had a long brown ponytail trailing down his back. Sephiroth easily recognized him as one of the Firsts that had been in charge of the tiny base: Alister Hamilton.

Alister was surprised to see the General; he had expected him to still be slashing through the rebels with the rest. He slowed his pace to talk with the man.

"Sir," Alister said, nearing the solemn-looking General. He had decided it wouldn't be terrible to ask for assistance. "I was wondering—"

"What do you need, Hamilton?" Sephiroth stated, sounding curt, though his expression showed he was not angry.

Alister was not taken aback by the interruption. Something about the look in the General's eyes told him not to take it personally. He decided to be blatant: "One of my Thirds, he was trapped in the antique shop as it collapsed. He just called me, sir," Alister said in a rush, not wanting to wait. He was still walking in its direction, albeit slowly.

"The one on the corner?" Sephiroth asked quickly.

"Yes. He's underneath the roof, sir."

* * *

Vincent started as the cell phone rang unexpectedly. He had been dosing off, so tired and painful that his eyes seemed to close of their own accord. He knew if he fell asleep he might not wake up, but he had still been drifting even as he tried to keep his eyelids stubbornly held open.

"Hello?" Vincent croaked, coughing from the dust he had just inhaled.

"We're here to get you. We just need to know where you were when the roof went down," Alister said.

Vincent could feel his nerves settle a little. He wasn't alone. Alister had come to help him, and wouldn't leave him trapped. But it might already be too late. Vincent could tell he was getting feverish; it was difficult to think clearly and he was so extraordinarily tired....

"I was somewhere to the right, a ways in front of the window. Probably in the middle of the room," Vincent answered quietly, his voice cracking from his dry throat.

Vincent could make out another voice in the background, and waited patiently for Alister.

"You stay on the line, alright? If something starts coming down on you or something we're going to need you to tell us."

Vincent didn't even bother to worry about who "we" was, and only responded with a muffled yes. All he wanted was to curl up and sleep. But he knew if he did....

Sephiroth and Alister slowly made their way through the wreckage, trying to get to the decimated second floor that was virtually blanketed in the material from the roof.

The staircase was more or less blocked off, though from about halfway down, it looked like someone might have already been there to clear the way somewhat. They walked across boards and sheets of drywall to get to the top of the stairs, the General making his way gracefully, while Alister tripped and stumbled behind him.

When they actually stepped onto the second floor, their weight caused the structure to creak loudly and dangerously, the splintered, blackened wood and other rubble beneath their feet shifting and groaning in protest.

The two didn't walk far, just in case Vincent was mistaken or confused about where he was. If they were to step on the wrong part it could crush down on the boy trapped beneath.

Meticulously they both started to pick up bits of wood and roofing from the ground, carefully setting it aside so that the floor underneath was not being too badly abused. Alister didn't bother to ask the boy to call out; he had sounded very weak, coughing often while he spoke.

"Can you hear us digging around up here, Vincent?" Alister asked in the cell phone, stopping for a second as Sephiroth lifted up a particularly large piece of drywall, his black gloved hands getting sprinkled with white powder.

The General did everything to not show his reaction to the name Alister had spoken, setting the piece of board aside as nonchalantly as the rest.

For some reason a part of him instantly calmed at the thought that Vincent was still breathing, though he knew from the state of the building it might not have necessarily been a good thing.

Of the Thirds, Vincent was one that showed promise. Angeal and Zack were partial to the boy as well, which in turn caused Sephiroth to look out for him more than might have been needed. Vincent had proved to be resourceful and well-suited to SOLDIER, contrary to his physical limitations due to his smaller frame. He was determined.

Sephiroth had spoken to no one, but had ascertained that it was likely all of the Thirds sent to Wutai had perished. If one were to survive, he was grateful that it might be the one who deserved it the most.

"Yes," Vincent answered into the phone. "There's more light over here now."

Sephiroth moved instinctively to the voice he could just discern coming from below, and began lifting more debris toward his right.

Alister shoved the phone in his pocket and began to help again, trying not to be too rough with what he moved.

It didn't take long before a sliver of bright light filtered in down on Vincent, welcoming after spending such an extensive time alone in the darkness.

He didn't have the heart to tell Alister that it was probably all in vain. His vision was starting to wink in and out.... He was just barely staying awake by focusing on the pain as distraction.

Finally, one of the boards was removed just above Vincent's head, revealing his bleary maroon eyes and black hair peppered with bits of dust and small chunks of wood.

Just upon looking at the boy's face, it was clear that something was terribly wrong.

His eyes, which usually held a life-filled gleam, were dull. His face was so pallid that his black hair looked harsh in comparison, black lines across too-white skin. Even the boy's lips were pale, with a whitish tinge.

His pupils expanded as his vision managed to clear somewhat, his eyes caught on the sight of the last person he expected to see: Sephiroth.

"Vincent..." Alister said, trying to remain calm, though his insides were twisting and trying to make his voice falter. "Are you pinned?"

It took a minute for the boy to respond, his eyes lazily drifting back to the floor. "Everywhere," he managed, taking a deep breath of the cooler air that was wafting down to his sweaty face.

"Okay, we're going to get you out, just hold on, alright?" Alister looked over to Sephiroth, who wouldn't return his gaze.

Sephiroth had already started to move things again, intently trying to pick the sound of the boy's breathing from the noise of moving debris.

It took a few minutes, and things shifted, but Vincent told them nothing was pushing down any harder than usual. As Sephiroth moved a beam along with a piece of plywood, he found the desk that was pinning the boy where he was.

A thin arm was caught underneath the corner of the desk, the dark, glossed wood visibly sinking into the flesh deeply, staining the blue uniform the boy wore with blood. It would be...questionable to move the desk. Sephiroth made no indication of his quickly formed realization, but Alister could not seem to keep it to himself.

"Fuck, this...he...I mean...."

Alister, normally very composed, was breaking at the sight of Vincent. He could see that not only was his arm nearly severed, the weight of the desk keeping it from gushing the life out of him, his good leg was bloody, twisted at an odd angle that revealed that it was most definitely broken. There was no telling what other injuries the boy had. The fact that he was still alive was a miracle in and of itself, likely just from sheer willpower and the help of some of the medication he had been given earlier for his leg. Had he not received some of the new healing drugs, it was almost certain he would have already been dead.

Sephiroth was moving toward the desk, but Alister stopped him.

Vincent was still, not saying anything, practically unconscious. He blinked repeatedly trying to stay awake, barely even remembering why.

"No, you can't. Just...just...leave him there. Don't cause him anymore pain," Alister said, his eyes wet from the tears that were going to fall.

Sephiroth looked down at the boy for a moment, knowing that Alister was right: Vincent was dead. If not now, as soon as the desk was moved he would have been handed his death sentence. He'd lost too much blood and was too weak from being buried so long.

But something in the General didn't want to accept that assessment. Vincent was alive. He was breathing. The way the boy's eyelids kept fluttering as he tried to keep his eyes open was enough for Sephiroth to question his own judgement.

This was the same SOLDIER that had kept composed while his entire squad lost their sanity and laid down in the sand like helpless prey. And here he was, obviously struggling to keep breathing, but doing so none the less.

Sephiroth moved away from the desk, making his way over the rubble down toward where Vincent was laying. He knelt slowly, watching as the boy's eyes focused on him, dim, but still holding life.

Alister was standing off to the side, his head in his hands.

"Vincent," Sephiroth breathed quietly, so that only the boy could hear.

Vincent felt like he was in a dream. Those intelligent green eyes were staring down at him full of worry, something they weren't supposed to do. Something about that was all wrong....

Vincent fought internally to snatch the wisps of thoughts that kept floating by, but he was so tired...all he wanted was to sleep, just sleep for a little while....

But then there was the General's voice again, calm, but very concerned. He had called him "Vincent", not Private Valentine.... Vincent managed a slight smile at the thought. Just imagination....

"Vincent," the General stated again, one of his elegant but strong hands resting lightly on the boy's small shoulder.

A warmth spread from beneath the touch, soothing, pleasant. It tingled, moving further and further down, snaking through his limbs, taking that horrible sharp edge from the pain that was overwhelming. It seemed to lightly brush the fog away, enough that recognition flashed in the boy's maroon eyes for a moment.

Suddenly Vincent remembered. He was dying. He couldn't sleep.

"Sephiroth?" Vincent said after a long silence, finally clearing his mind enough to speak. Whatever the man had done, it had lessened the pain slightly and made his head stop aching somewhat.

"Yes," the silver-haired man answered.

A black gloved hand moved the strands of ebony hair from covering over Vincent's eyes. The gesture was so gentle and caring that Vincent inadvertently moved his face into the touch, even though moving meant more pain.

The hand didn't leave, stroking Vincent's hair calmly.

"You're dying Vincent," Sephiroth stated.

"I know..." the boy answered, his eyes welling with tears. He looked so small and vulnerable.

The hand continued to pet him, which made Vincent nearly forget what was happening again. It was so reassuring and strong that it seemed too good to be true.

"I'm here to ask you if you want to live."

There was no hesitation. "More than anything," Vincent confessed, struggling not to cry.

That was all the General needed to hear.


	13. Rage

**A/N:** I spent hours and hours on this chapter. I am completely uncertain of it, though it's what I've been planning all along. I rewrote the last part about three different times because I absolutely hated it. Anyway, I hope you all still end up liking this story after this part. Hopefully you won't hate me...too much.

Thanks to: **Kyuubi-ismy-homie**, **OvenBased**, **hitsuni**, **NicotineGum**, **whatevergirl**, **kirlover44**, **VampiricRooster**, **Gismo1**, **Anonymous**, , **ghost of gene rayburn**, **minoki**, **Tiny Koala**, and **KT**!

Anyway, you have no idea what it means to me to have people take the time to tell me that they are liking this craziness! Honestly, it is so great to have encouragement :D I just hope I don't disappoint all of you.... But as always, feel free to tell me if I do.

* * *

There was a lot of risk involved, more than Sephiroth would have liked to acknowledge.

He watched the tumultuous green waves with a noticeable detachment, listening intently to the ragged breathing of the boy strewn across his lap in the cramped confinement of the helicopter.

Vincent was in bad shape, very bad shape. The small little chest was fighting for each and every breath, and Sephiroth was draining his magic by constantly aiding in at least a partial pain relief. He'd already given the boy a conservative amount of morphine, but was hesitant to do anything else. The boy was so small...it would be incredibly easy to give him too much of anything. He couldn't weigh over 110 pounds, if that even.

When Sephiroth had freed the boy and lifted him from the mess he had been trapped in, the feather-lightness had shocked him. He could feel through the uniform that Vincent was all muscle, yet his body was so thin and frail.

As for his arm.... It was the worst part of the injuries sustained, by far. Alister had wrapped his belt around it as tightly as he could get it, then cinched it closed before Sephiroth had lifted the desk.

The boy had a cast on his leg, which Alister explained had come from a fall down a flight of stairs. Something about the whole incident did not sound right to the General; Vincent was sure-footed, far from clumsy. For now, however, he would have to accept the explanation, and could only wonder as to how the boy had gotten into the antiques shop in the first place. There were many unanswered questions.

It would have been easy to ship Vincent off with one of the helicopters heading for a nearby base hospital in other sections of Wutai, but Sephiroth had gone against that plan. He knew what would happen if Vincent was sent to a regular military hospital. Not only would he be treated last because of his rank, but chances were the doctors would make the same decision that both Sephiroth and Alister had at one point: that the boy was beyond saving. Even if Sephiroth had made certain the boy received immediate treatment, there was little _normal_ doctors could do.

If Vincent lost the arm, his chances in SOLDIER were all together forfeit. Though SOLDIER had nothing against the permanent injuries inflicted in battle, with lower-ranked individuals there was little purpose they could serve besides being employed as paper pushers. Unfortunately most of those jobs were already taken by the out-of-commission Firsts, which often meant anyone else simply had to leave SOLDIER. It was a sad reality, but there was not much choice in such a matter; it was left up to the Board of Directors, not Sephiroth, or things would have been very different. Sephiroth may not have appreciated weakness, but he understood that some things could not be helped. They had to be accepted for what they were.

He was taking tremendous risk. Not only for Vincent, but for himself. It was a foolish thing he was doing, especially considering he was about to have the Turks Reno and Rude drop him off in an area not far from a very high-security undisclosed research facility. Normally he was dropped off near Costa del Sol, but this time not only did he not have his motorcycle in tow, but Vincent could not wait much longer.

He was willing to do something drastic; he didn't know precisely why, but the boy affected him. Perhaps Angeal's protective ways had become somewhat ingrained in him....

Angeal and Zack...all of SOLDIER...even Alister didn't know where Sephiroth was. He had not even had the time to tell Zack that Vincent was still alive, which might have been an intelligent choice. Vincent wasn't guaranteed to survive, not at all....

The helicopter descended slowly, Reno's blatantly red ponytail billowing in the down force. Sephiroth could scarcely see through the shroud of silver hair that quickly covered over him and Vincent.

Vincent, more or less unconscious, moved closer to the warmth that he felt, his eyelids fluttering from the deafening whir of the helicopter's blades, but not coaxing him to completely open his tired eyes.

"Are you sure this is where you want off?" Reno shouted over his shoulder.

They were somewhere near Rocket Town, though it was miles away, to the south of the strange jungle-like expanse they had landed in. The trees were bunched together, hunter green and healthy looking, covering the ground in shadow easily with their leaves which provided a natural canopy and cooled the air considerably.

It had taken some flying around to find somewhere open enough for Reno to land the bird. Reno was frowning, not exactly unaware that he was missing something. Rude was quiet, though he had already reached a conclusion that he knew Reno would be asking him about seconds after the General got out of the copter.

"Yes," Sephiroth called back through the noise of the machine and the constant, loud rustling of the large, overgrown trees' leaves.

Reno unbuckled and quickly got out of his seat, having managed to get the bird on a nice even spot. He left it running, the blades chopping mercilessly overhead.

Sephiroth was already rising, though gently. He couldn't grab the boy under the knees, so instead he simply cradled his long legs in one arm, while bringing the small face up toward his neck. The injured left arm he draped across the boy's stomach.

"Hope the kid is alright," Reno said lowly, though he knew Sephiroth could hear him even through the noise. Rude had joined Reno, and was standing beside him. Surprisingly, he addressed the General from behind his black sunglasses.

"You know what you are doing?" he asked.

Sephiroth gave a nod, one of his black-gloved hands gripping the teen a little more possessively.

"Watch him closely," Rude finished, before turning to go back to his seat.

"Well, duh," Reno said, frowning a little at Rude's retreating back. "Why wouldn't he, yo?"

Reno didn't seem to catch the fact that Rude had not been talking about Vincent, but Sephiroth understood. Though he wasn't overly-fond of the Turks in general, Reno and Rude had their...qualities. They had both served him well in times where discretion was mandatory. Reno may have called him "that psycho General guy", but he had never once crossed him.

"Thank you," Sephiroth said, looking to Reno.

They had agreed to do as he asked, though they had received no orders. It was not safe for them to even have a relative idea of where the facility was, but it was much better that it be Reno and Rude than someone less trustworthy. The Turks already knew what he did off base, though they never questioned him on it, respectfully keeping their distance from his personal matters.

It was not without doubt that Sephiroth made his way out of the helicopter.

He had made his choice. There was no time to turn back.

* * *

"You could have given me warning," Hojo stated angrily, ripping through Vincent's tattered uniform with a pair of surgical scissors none too gently.

"There was little time," Sephiroth stated monotonously. "I do not like to call this facility from my phone anyway; the calls are monitored."

Hojo said nothing, his face the epitome of displeasure. Though Hojo himself was a master at playing emotions, he rarely seemed to find opportunity to _not_ let his feelings be known. His manipulative nature was more or less revealed to the world, so what was there to conceal? He reveled in being completely in his element; the out-of-the-way lab allowed for that, while his talents were still very much known by the right people.... It was...the perfect arrangement.

Hojo had not shown his surprise at seeing the son of Grimoire Valentine dumped on one of the chrome medical tables; it was far too good to spoil. The boy's eyes, which had flicked open once or twice were a dead giveaway, as was the straight ebony hair that stopped just below the bottom of his chin. Hojo had seen a small picture of the boy when he had shared a lab with Grimoire several years previous. The man had kept it in on of the drawers of his desk.

"You are not to alter him in any way. You are not to experiment on him. Is that understood?" Sephiroth said, his eyes steely, commanding. "All I ask is that you keep him alive."

Hojo laughed darkly, a high-pitched, irritating thing that grated on the General's sensitive hearing. "Of course."

Sephiroth had already decided that he would not leave. He did not have the slightest bit of trust in Hojo; the man was a self-serving megalomaniac. To have a fresh 'specimen' to work on brought out by far, the worst aspects of the man's heavily lacking personality. Besides cruelty, there was little else there, though sadistic and impetuous came to mind.

"Why such interest?" Hojo asked, his smile wicked as he began to attach several different types of monitor wires all over the small, white chest.

Sephiroth didn't bother to glare at the man, as it would only raise the scientist's level of curiosity toward the matter. He had to choose his words carefully; Hojo may have been completely mad, but he wasn't stupid, and the slightest hint of any sort of weakness on the part of Sephiroth would later be used as blackmail.

"Commander Hewley is training him," Sephiroth stated shortly, deciding to distance himself as much as possible from the boy in Hojo's eyes.

"And he knows he is here?" Hojo said, his eyes twinkling with a cruel amusement.

Sephiroth said nothing, watching as Hojo's hands prodded Vincent's arm, pushing into the wound. Hojo only smiled lightly at Sephiroth's lack of response.

The boy had been put under directly upon arrival, though his maroon eyes had looked up at Hojo for the briefest of seconds, the pupils dilating in horror. It appeared that Vincent recognized Hojo, though he had not had time to think on it as the scientist jabbed a needle into his arm.

Sephiroth did not like having to involve Vincent with the likes of Hojo; it was unwise. However, Hojo was virtually the only human being capable of keeping something alive that was on the verge of already being dead. He took risks, not caring in the slightest for the aftereffects of his actions (which worried Sephiroth), but because of it he could keep things that were supposed to be dead, breathing.

It was something Sephiroth knew from personal experience.

"I will have to use mako," Hojo stated after a moment, snapping the bloody latex gloves off of his hands.

Sephiroth let out a sigh. He had figured the mako would be inevitable. It was not the worst that could be put into Vincent's body, and given that he was in SOLDIER it would have been something that he eventually would have had to deal with regardless.

"If you must," Sephiroth answered, his arms crossed over his chest, face unreadable.

Hojo went to one of the large steel refrigerators, opening it and staring at the rows and rows of chemicals he had stocked. He selected three small vials, holding them loosely in one fist as he walked in that shuffling way of his over toward one of the immense supply cabinets.

Sephiroth was silent, watching the man critically as he finally retrieved a cylinder of mako. He dumped everything unceremoniously onto a wheeled cart, then brought it over to where Vincent was.

Hojo's look had become sinister.

"The arm...is salvageable. But if you should like to keep it, I will have to make some...minor...adjustments." The grin got overpowering, as Hojo pushed his hands into another pair of gloves.

"How minor?" Sephiroth demanded, nearly faltering as he kept his distaste for the man out of his voice.

"Titanium rods to replace the bone. It's fractured too extensively. Practically a powder in some spots. Why keep it? I will have to do several treatments on the hand and lower arm anyway.... It lost blood flow, and is medically dead at the moment."

"No," Sephiroth asserted. "He's young. He would have to have the rods replaced later. You'll salvage the bone."

"Not with the ones I was going to use," Hojo said with one of his tittering laughs.

"No."

Hojo was visibly disappointed, but shrugged. "Very well."

As Hojo began to set up his equipment, Sephiroth couldn't help but stare at the almost lifeless body of the young Third. He was distinctively pale all over, however his face had a chalky look to it, and his lips were still dim in shade, nearly the same color as his skin.

He already looked like a corpse, though his panicked, shallow breaths told otherwise.

After a moment, Sephiroth spoke, his voice low and toneless, though his fist was clenched: "Will you be able to save him?"

Hojo had retrieved a blood pack from inside another smaller refrigerator, and was already hanging it for use. Hojo paused in his ministrations, his smile secretive, knowing in a way that made Sephiroth mentally reevaluate what he had said, checking for flaws. He probably shouldn't have asked.

"I'll need to update Commander Hewley accordingly," Sephiroth added.

"Hard to tell," Hojo said cryptically, though his smile had grown over the past few seconds.

Sephiroth accepted that Hojo wanted to play games---that was the way of the man. But that did not mean he had to participate. He said nothing.

* * *

The hours went by excruciatingly slow, with Hojo's hunched form bent over the small, helpless boy who was unconsciously in the man's clutches. But Sephiroth did not leave, standing off to the side much to Hojo's irritation.

When the scientist had asked Sephiroth why, the silver-haired man had only replied, "I do not trust you." Hojo had laughed annoyingly, returning to his work without further attention to the stoical man that observed him suspiciously.

One of Hojo's assistants, a vile young man named Wendel Craven, appeared from time to time, watching the General somewhat obsessively from underneath his starkly white, stringy hair and thick, black framed glasses. Sephiroth unfortunately was all too familiar with the too-thin, short man who never wore anything but bleached white clothing.

Craven was well suited to his name, being cowardly in the sense that he would not risk his life, yet was perfectly capable of causing irreparable damage to test subjects without the slightest plague of conscience. He was meticulous, which was why he was useful to Hojo. He was also dangerously curious about Sephiroth, as well as any other 'specimens' that made their way into the lab.

He was very talkative, one of the things that seemed to highly irritate Hojo, however because Craven was so willing a participant he was used more often than any of the other assistants.

"He's gonna croak," Craven said with a grin, having approached Sephiroth.

He was staring at the tangled locks of Sephiroth's hair, then at the clinging bits of dried blood on the black leather. The blood made him smile pleasantly.

Sephiroth said nothing, not the least bit interested in encouraging Craven into speaking more, though he could feel the all too comforting anger slithering through his gut, lurking. He had almost no tolerance for Craven as it was.

"So why'd you bring him? You fucking him or something?"

Sephiroth's head turned slowly, his face stony, though his eyes were positively glowing and flickering, the black pupil instantly turned to a tiny slit.

"Just a question. It was kind of a joke, you know?" Craven smiled what he must have thought to be a placating smile, but it faltered when the General continued to look at him as though he were a piece of prey.

"I have no time for your stupidity," Sephiroth stated abruptly, his green eyes boring into the white-blue of Craven's. "Get out."

Craven seemed to slouch under the intensity of the cat-like eyes, and gave a short nod. He quickly slunk off, glancing back over his shoulder a few times with a slight grin. He disappeared into some other part of the lab, not returning until much later.

* * *

Vincent's color had returned somewhat, though it still looked quite unhealthy. He had been receiving steady transfusions, while meanwhile Hojo was pouring mako directly onto the open wounds, to which Sephiroth had at first protested. Hojo had only said, "If you want him to die..."

What was taking the longest was making certain Vincent stayed stable. His breathing grew rapid at times, most particularly after the first mako injection. After awhile, he had finally regulated again.

The other drugs Hojo appeared to be using, were some sort of stimulants. Reanimators of sorts, though Sephiroth knew very little of them, except that they had been tested on corpses in faulty attempts to revitalize the bodies. Sephiroth could only watch, and hope that Hojo wasn't simply using Vincent as yet another specimen for testing his hypotheses on.

Hojo took the time to go through the entire arm, injecting briefly, then using small electrical pulses to check the reactions of both the muscles and the nerve endings, some of which he had readings for on a small screen.

Hojo had left on a few occasions, going into other portions of the lab to get more equipment. He'd returned with a huge magnifying lens to see the smallest of structures, and had already reinitiated blood flow back to the limb long ago.

It was tedious, but Hojo seemed to thrive on things that took careful consideration and skill. His hands were steady and deft, though he was not a graceful man. The lights were reflecting off of his glasses as he worked, the sweat beginning to bead at his temples, wetting the wisps of black hair that were too short to be pulled into his low ponytail.

It was more than a miracle that Vincent hadn't bled to death. Alister had mentioned something about 'healing drugs' that the boy had been given for his leg, which was something Sephiroth planned to look into later. Sephiroth was guessing they were the same type that Hojo himself used on him at times. They thickened the blood to cause faster clotting and were infused with hormones that sacrificed the speed of the immune system to provide extra energy for healing. It could make patients tired and groggy from the internal slowdown. In small amounts, however, it had proved to cut down healing time.

Hojo worked on the breaks to the ulna and radius last, using the magnifying lense to examine every minuscule hairline crack. Because he had the bone openly exposed, he was able to use a hardening agent on the worst of the damage, then added supporting pins accordingly where the bones were actually severed completely.

It was late by the time Hojo began slowly stitching closed the arm. There would be jagged scars, as Hojo had been forced to open the wound extensively in order to get at the entirety of the internal structures of the arm.

Once neatly closed, Hojo again tested the arm. Small pulses made the muscles twitch, curling certain fingers or making the fist clench. Hojo smiled triumphantly. His glee, however, was not its usually intensity, which Sephiroth noticed. It was likely because the man was saving a life instead of destroying one.

"What are the possibilities for side effects?" Sephiroth asked, looking down at the long line of black sutures as he neared the table Vincent was resting on.

"Oh, many," Craven said, having just reentered the room.

He had been watching from the doorway, avoiding coming to close while Hojo was working and Sephiroth was observing so intently.

He made his way to Sephiroth in long strides, which seemed out of place with his short stature. He stopped when he neared the General, letting his hands rest on the chrome lazily. Hojo didn't seem to pay any mind to his assistant, and was already grabbing more tools from the cabinet.

"Numbness, extreme sensitivity to changes in temperature, loss of muscle control or shakiness, so on and so forth, or the tissue could just wither and fall off. It's hard to tell." At the last part he smiled sadistically, his light blue eyes staring down at the boy on the table.

Sephiroth didn't bother to look at Craven, but kept watch over Vincent. He was angry inside, that strange overwhelming kind that seemed to be happening so frequently since the last treatment. The day had been...difficult. Now that he was off of the battlefield he could feel the edge of fatigue and a sort of recklessness that accompanied tiredness. But he kept himself in check.

Sephiroth's silence did not appear to perturb Craven in the least, because he continued talking.

"Two broken legs... Should be interesting. You'll have to keep him on the flat of his back for a month. So what happened, he get roughed up or something?" Craven was still looking at Vincent somewhat predatorily, drumming his fingers on the operating table. Sephiroth made no reply, but Craven didn't seem to mind.

"I hear that the Wutai decided to take to the slaughter. It's always nice to see SOLDIER getting its ass kicked for once. I get sick of hearing about how damned wonderful you all are..." he said as an afterthought.

Craven smiled charmingly, looking over to Sephiroth, loving that the man was keeping silent.

Sephiroth could feel his barely-there control crack instantaneously.

There was no warning as Sephiroth grabbed Craven sharply by the throat, his gloved fist squeezing tightly as it wrapped about the thin, fragile neck. Craven looked noticeably shocked, his eyes widening. His hands reflexively ripped and yanked at the General's, though it was in vain. He couldn't even put up a fight against one of the man's iron-like hands.

Sephiroth's sea green eyes fixed on Craven's, both in warning and in intimidation. He didn't need intimidation, however, as Craven was already scared of him and had simply been pushing to get a reaction. Sephiroth knew the man was nothing but talk and manipulation, but he was not in the mood to endure it as he usually wound up doing.

"Let him go; I don't have time to fix another one," Hojo said impatiently, as he began reexamining Vincent's free leg. "Get control of yourself."

Hojo finally glanced over at Sephiroth after a moment as a thought came to him, his eyes assessing. A small smile played at his thin lips. "Or is that too difficult for you?"

The hand slackened, then released. Sephiroth's cold expression did not change. Craven rubbed at his throat and coughed, eyes narrowed slightly, though he tried not to show his irritation to Sephiroth in case it would prompt a second throttling.

"You take your job far too seriously," Craven commented, sputtering.

Craven would never admit to it, but he was fascinated by Sephiroth; he wanted to know how the man worked. Seeing him actually respond was very...intriguing.

"I see our recent treatments have done nothing to stifle your anger," Hojo observed, pulling roughly on Vincent's leg in effort to straighten it.

Hojo began using what at first appeared to be a camera, but it became obvious that it was something else entirely when one of the large screens on the wall suddenly flicked to life. Huge X-rays filled the screen. He had taken a few of Vincent's injured arm, then one of either leg.

The next few hours went by rather placidly, Hojo repairing both legs with casts (the old cast had to be removed and replaced, while the other leg required a few stitches) and retaking X-rays to ensure proper alignment. All the while Vincent's vitals were constantly monitored for changes, machines beeping incessantly from even minor fluctuations.

Sephiroth was surprised by how resilient the boy was; the mako seemed to have helped considerably after the first initial rejection, which had been slight anyway. It was rare, but occasionally SOLDIERs died upon their first injection, having a severe allergic reaction for inexplicable reasons.

"He will need to stay for a few days," Hojo said with a strange smile, after his work had been completed.

"I'd prefer he didn't," Sephiroth stated.

"He could crash at any time. He's going to need regular injections for the next several hours," Hojo said, sounding disinterested as he gave Vincent a distasteful glance from behind his glasses. "And we should give you another treatment," Hojo added offhandedly as he began to throw the tools he had used into a large metal tub full of alcohol for sanitization.

"No," Sephiroth said flatly. "I don't need another treatment just now."

"Oh really?" Hojo said, letting out one of his characteristic laughs. "Your actions proceed you."

Sephiroth showed no reaction, not even responding, just staring at the man blankly and refusing to give in.

"I have an alternate drug that will likely negate some of the mood swings. And since you will be here for a more extended period, I will be able to monitor your condition."

"No."

Craven, who had been standing in the corner, was watching the exchange with amusement. In his hand was a notepad where he furiously scribbled notes. Most of it pertained to the General's responses both verbally and physically. Craven enjoyed observation almost as much as experimentation.

Hojo's look turned irritated. "Would you like to continue behaving like an animal? It's clear that your control is waning."

"It makes no difference. You can do the treatment just as easily later," Sephiroth answered tonelessly.

"We'll do the treatment now," Hojo insisted.

Hojo had already grabbed a new pair of gloves, refusing to take no for an answer. Craven grinned from his spot, sucking on the cap of his pen.

Sephiroth would have openly objected more vocally, but he remained impassive, watching as the man began preparing a large syringe, measuring and mixing in several different chemicals after checking a chart that listed previous dosages.

Sephiroth hated the treatments. Each time they seemed to get worse and worse, their effectiveness tapering off, and requiring Hojo to continually up the dosage to dangerous extremes.

What worried him most, was that the treatment would make him less aware as it always did. It was not a good time to be introspective, particularly when Vincent was in such a condition and at the disposal of someone like Hojo.

"I don't want a treatment," Sephiroth stated sternly.

He felt like he was a little boy again, arguing with Hojo. The thought made that familiar fury start to bubble somewhere inside. The tiredness and drain on his magic must have been getting to him.

Craven had moved, creeping up behind Sephiroth, who turned his head for a moment to let him know that he was not unseen. Craven only smiled, sidling up to him and continuing to take notes in his cramped, crooked writing.

Hojo had finished prepping and approached Sephiroth, completely ignoring his words. "Sit," he ordered with his usual pre-injection sadistic smile.

Sephiroth was in no mood to be trifled with. His hand easily sent the needle from Hojo's grip with a swipe, were it flew clumsily through the air, then landed on the floor with a clatter. It rolled a few feet, small drops of the solution dripping out of the needle and onto the white linoleum floor.

"No."

It was in that moment that a realization struck. Hojo looked...furious. His mouth was set into an angry thin line. He did not want to be told no, and for some reason that struck the General as very important.

The answer came instantly. Craven moved, his coat rustling for the briefest second, then there was a sharp, quick pain, that made Sephiroth lash out his left arm instinctively. He hit Craven in the stomach, the blow sending the smaller man flying to the floor where he landed on his back.

Sephiroth had noticed too late.

Craven was grinning, even though he had just been thrown to the floor with enough force to bruise.

Sephiroth wrenched the needle out of his arm, his look one of unadulterated fury. He was quick enough that only half of whatever was in the syringe had managed to get into his body.

"What is it?" he growled dangerously, taking a glance at the needle.

It was shaped just like a pen, but had alternating buttons, one for the ink and one for the solution contained inside. Depending on which button one pressed, it could either be a ball point pen or a needle.

He stalked toward the fallen Craven, but his eyes darted to Hojo who intelligently had stayed where he was, though he too was suddenly smiling in a way that made Sephiroth's anger boil.

Everything was already starting to fade. The lights of the lab seemed to dim, the world seemed to sway as though he were standing on top of the surface of an ocean. Sephiroth shook his head defiantly, refusing to allow his balance to be disrupted.

"What is it!" he screamed, having only one single thought: killing Craven.

He staggered, blinking stubbornly, and letting the anger rush through his veins to keep him standing. He would have drawn Masamune and beheaded the coward, but he fell against a lab table, clutching at it, knuckles white. He wouldn't even be able to lift the sword. He was mentally fighting it, but muscle control was disappearing so quickly he scarcely had time to even think about it. His vision was swirling and winking in and out, making everything black every few seconds.

Everything was making sense...the smiles, the looks...Hojo's brief disappearances that were in accordance with when Craven left. They had planned it then. They had waited until an opportune moment when he was angry and not paying close enough attention. That coward had stood next to him, knowing if he refused Hojo he would inject him instead.

In those brief seconds, had he been able, Sephiroth would have murdered both Hojo and Craven. But he slumped against the table, sliding down to the floor as his limbs gave out from underneath him.

He tried to force an energy sphere from his hand, focusing every piece of willpower on forming it, but it flickered only briefly, the size of a small apple, before dying out.

"No..." he breathed, his eyes filling with rage.

They were planning something, something they didn't want him around for. And he knew it likely had to do with Vincent.

Hojo was laughing. Laughing loudly and insanely.


	14. Captivity

**A/N:** I'm basically overjoyed that people like something that I write...it's insane. All of you really help. I'm glad that you still like it :D

Thanks to: **NicotineGum**, **whatevergirl**, **kiralover44**, **Kiri Jyuu**, **Gismo1**, **Tiny Koala**, **Anonymous**, **CornCob**, **minoki**, **Rose on a casket**, **VampiricRooster**, **Risikaa**, **Kyuubi-ismy-homie**, **Nalie**, **OvenBased**, and **KT**! It's all of you who have me updating daily.... By the way, if you ever want to know how to drive me insane, it's Hojo's laugh...or giggle. Seriously. Drives me up the wall. It could be used against me as a form of torture. Now you've got some dirt. ;)

* * *

"You look like hell," Craven muttered, glancing up from the report he was reading for a brief moment. "Wait over there." He pointed offhandedly to a chair in the corner, his eyes moving back to the document dismissively.

He had little interest in Johns. Quite a dull subject; purely Hojo's territory. The man liked mindless bodyguards as they were much easier to control and manipulate. Craven was disinterested in anything that didn't provide new insight or was not enigmatic. Johns was too easy to read, too predictable. Mind numbingly boring and unstimulating.

Johns grunted irritably, blood caked and dried down the side of his face. His muscled arms were covered in scratches and bruises, his thin shirt was ripped in several spots and just barely hanging off of his overly-broad shoulders.

"Where's Hojo?" Johns asked, his glowing yellow eyes roving the room.

"Busy. Sit. Shut up," Craven answered curtly, his eyes narrowing.

He didn't have the time to listen to the moron go through his list of personal problems. If Hojo thought Johns was worth playing shrink to, that was his choice. Johns was virtually useless as far as Craven could see, and he could just stand there and bleed to death unless Hojo appeared in time.

Johns moved closer, the intensity of his eyes increasing. He squeezed one of his giant fists together. "I'll see him now," Johns demanded, his face twisting quickly with anger.

The man was completely unstable, which Craven found annoying. He had already destroyed a good section of the lab with one of his screaming fits over how much of an asshole the General was and how he, Johns, would be the one to end his life. Hojo had gotten him riled over that one, much to Craven's surprise. Hojo did love to play all sides.

Craven rolled his eyes. "Not now nutcase. He's just the tiniest bit busy. Now, you don't sit down, I'm going to make sure the next time you get an injection you keel the fuck over." Craven smirked from his own words, not even showing Johns enough respect to look him in the eyes. He continued reading his report, not caring if Johns was two seconds away from choking him or not.

"Play nicely, Craven," Hojo said, emerging through the doorway. His eyes went to Johns, flashing with withheld irritation, though he made no other sign of it.

Johns look of fury changed to one of reverence instantaneously. "Doctor Hojo."

It was as though someone had flipped a switch. Johns was suddenly a Godfearing man, though he looked over and openly scowled at Craven once before completely focusing on Hojo.

"Go see to the specimen while Johns gets a treatment," Hojo ordered, handing over a new sheet of documents to his assistant. He gave Johns a short, forced smile, though the man didn't seem to notice that it was more cruel than kind.

* * *

Vincent's arm was opened up again, muscles and bone exposed.

Craven snatched a pair of gloves from off of a lab table, pulling them on quickly. He walked slowly toward the unconscious boy, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of the chest, which had bruised considerably since the last time he had seen it. Purples had begun to blot certain areas, blueish and even green in some spots.

The boy was small, weak looking. It was hard for Craven to discern why the General had been so intent on saving him when physically he was not a good candidate for SOLDIER. In fact, the boy looked more like a Turk than anything, being so narrow and lanky.

That meant that there were other reasons. Skill, intelligence, something of the sort._ Or he just wants to fuck him_, Craven thought wryly. That conclusion was more entertaining than the rest.

He forced the muscles apart more so that he could get a look at the work Hojo had started on the bone structure.

The experiment was entirely new to human testing. It was one of Hojo's ideas for creating super soldiers. Small corporations who were struggling in vain to keep up with Shinra demanded guards with similar attributes to those in SOLDIER. Mako enhancements, gene splicing for psychological and physiological advantages...they were trying it all.

Titanium. Strong, durable. Much better alternative to bone, which was so fragile. Original tests on animal specimens had been conducted much differently than the one that would be performed on the boy. Hojo didn't seem to much mind whether or not this one lived or not, so risks were not something to be concerned over. As for Sephiroth's reaction later...that was something neither scientist gave much thought to.

The point was to discover how well a human body would adapt to the change, and how much improvement would come from the alteration. It would be messy, difficult, and it might not even be all that effective, but given that the arm was already severely damaged anyway, it wouldn't much matter what was done to it.

Hojo had made thicker replicas of the boy's tiny bones, even the smallest pieces in the fingers. The replicas were...special. Besides being chunks of a titanium alloy, they had been enhanced to the point of nearly being biomechanic. The metal would expand upon the presence of growth hormones, meaning that they would continue to mature as the boy did. Ideally, the rate of expansion would be relatively the same to typical bone growth, however, that part was...sketchy at best.

Although the enhanced metal (Hojo referred to it as biotitanium) had been proven to grow, it often was either slower or faster that other parts of the body. Given that they were only using it on the boy's arm, there was a substantial chance that his left arm and right arm would not develop at the same rate or reach the same terminal length.

So far they had only been able to adjust the growth rate to an average that related to the amounts of hormones released. So much growth for so much hormones. Unfortunately because human bodies were wired vastly different from person to person, it caused unforseen problems. Again, it was no matter. What happed, happened. The boy was only the first test subject, after all.

The metal gleamed from under the pink and red of the musculature. Hojo was working on the fingers, having split the skin up each fingertip. He had already begun attaching tendons to the new biotitanium bones, Craven noted.

Biotitanium was by far not all that was in store for the boy.... Craven wasn't entirely sure what it was Hojo was planning to do, but it involved something he called "metamorphosis"....

With Hojo it was difficult to tell.

* * *

Hours later, Hojo made his way down the long, desolate hall, carrying a small case in one of his hands. It was filled with various drugs, some so toxic they could kill outright.

He passed room after room, before stopping in front of a small metal door that was electronically locked. There was no window on the door, or any indication as to what was inside; it looked similar to every other along the row.

It opened with a click, the somewhat hunched Hojo hurriedly moving inside through the small opening.

It was white. Beyond white even. It was like staring at the blank canvas of a newborn mind; it was unmarred, untainted. Even with the dim lights the room seemed to be bright and alive. It was the sort of room that could drive a man mad from being so utterly void of anything but blank nothingness.

But the room was not empty.

Sephiroth was strapped heavily onto the mattress, his silver hair trapped beneath him, bangs framing his almost angelic face. He was still in his typical attire, though the buckles of his coat were undone, and there were wires coming from everywhere, leaving his skin and snaking like tentacles over to the machinery that he was connected to.

His head was restrained the most. One strap was directly across his throat, then another across his forehead. If he opened his eyes he would have nothing to see but that stark white ceiling.

"Enjoying the time to think?" Hojo said with a cruel grin.

He had set the kit onto a short white end table, opening the small case which released swirling opaque wisps that had formed due to the cold of its contents. He plucked a vial from one of many, checking the color in the light.

Sephiroth's eyes were thankfully closed. Had they been open, Hojo would never have bothered to close them.

The position was unfortunately not something new. He knew the drug; it had only taken seconds after he awoke---over an hour ago---for him to realize what was occurring.

He couldn't move. He couldn't blink had his eyes been open. He could only lay motionless, awake, alive, but paralyzed. His breathing continued, his heart beat, but otherwise he could do nothing. He was a prisoner of the infamous white room of his childhood, a mind caught inside a body with no escape but in thought.

Trapped.

It wasn't the same room; it had been in an entirely different lab. But Hojo was nostalgic when it came to remembering his favorite ways to break people.

Sephiroth could recall times as a child when Hojo had punished him for reading some of the reports for various experiments or when he had gotten into something that he wasn't allowed to touch.

Days spent staring at the ceiling. Nothing but white. At the worst, Hojo had injected him with mental stimulants that made it nearly impossible to sleep. Then there was but thought; no dreams to provide satiation for his deprived senses, only a very strained imagination, the mind of a boy who knew nothing but of human made environments: labs, operation tables, men in white coats that only caused pain.... Once a panicked little boy trapped looking up at the sterile white ceiling....

He had promised himself he would never be in the room ever again. But he was...as close to it as he could get. And they had taken Vincent.

He couldn't get to Vincent, he couldn't do anything. Hojo would destroy the boy for his own amusement, to test his theories, sadistically enjoying that he was taking something from Sephiroth somehow, doing something that angered him.

But why? What was it about Vincent that had caused the man to risk the already tense working relationship he had established with Sephiroth? Hojo was insane and could have simply done it on a whim or out of annoyance, but more often than not the scientist had a motive. Whether or not it was a legitimate motive was highly subjective.

"This will keep you...docile," Hojo stated.

Sephiroth could feel the needle as it pushed into a vein, but he couldn't so much as open his eyes. The feeling was slow, tingling. It started from his left arm, moving through the little tributaries and toward the center of his body. Warmth, but not a pleasant kind.

He knew it would not be long before he was lost again to the sea of blackness, to the dreamless sleep.... He might not wake for days.

He had to get out.

* * *

Vincent's eyes blinked open.

Bright, too white light assaulted his sleep ridden vision, making him squint. He let out a groan from the overwhelming pain, wanting to clutch at his arm, only to realize how weak he was. Just moving even slightly felt like the biggest struggle.

He tried to remember where he was, but could come up with nothing, at least at first. He felt foggy....

He forced his head to the side, trying to see what was going on with his body. Just that movement alone was enough to make him want to cry out in pain, but what he saw made him turn away as quickly as his sluggish reflexes would allow. He stifled a whimper, trying to ignore the acuteness of the sensation, and his own shock.

His arm was torn open, everything exposed. Nearby was a small metal container full of bloody tools. The ends were sticking out, the red substance dripping off of them then down the side of the container where it landed and pooled on the chrome table and onto something else.... Something messy, gory, in a pile right next to the container. It appeared to be whitish, but it was dribbled in red and difficult to tell, as it was partially covered by an old blue rag.

What was happening? Where was he? He tried to remember, tried to grab onto the slightest thought, but everything was so clouded, unclear, for reasons he had yet to firmly understand. It took a few moments for remembrance to dawn.

Quickly and suddenly, it came to him.

He clearly recalled Hojo...that face. Cold eyes behind round glasses. Hojo. He was somewhere with Hojo.

Hojo. The insane scientist fired from Shinra for performing heinous experiments on human test subjects.

The thought made Vincent tense. His arm was cut open...Hojo was doing something to him.

Sephiroth! The helicopter. The rubble, trapped beneath the collapsed roof.... Everything was coming together. He was beginning to pick over what had happened.

Sephiroth had brought him to Hojo.... But why? Why would Sephiroth leave him to Hojo?

Vincent could recall rumors he had heard about the General, about what he did when he left the base.... Many had claimed that he didn't just leave because of missions, but to continue getting treatments from Hojo. Sephiroth was never seen in the labs in Midgar, which is what had prompted the rumors. Vincent hadn't believed it, but it might help explain why he was where he was.

But Hojo? Why? It seemed so unlikely.

Vincent knew the General didn't mean him harm. The man had saved his life, twice now...that is if he lived through whatever was happening. Sephiroth would never do something without reason; that was not the way he worked. But Hojo?

He couldn't doubt Sephiroth. He wouldn't. He was alive, that was proof enough that Sephiroth had done what needed to be done. If he had taken him to Hojo...it would have been as a last resort. It had to be.

He just wished Sephiroth wouldn't have left him alone....

Vincent carefully moved his head to the side, though painfully nonetheless, searching the sterile environment. Lots of tables, most on wheels, then cabinets lining the entire room. One of them was open, revealing more surgical equipment. There was no one in the room at least from the perspective of what limited view he had.

He looked back to his body, which was splayed out on the table haphazardly. Both of his legs were in casts; the sight made him frown. He let out a short breath. Both legs? How long would it take to heal? How would he even manage to get around besides a wheelchair? He didn't even want to think about how far he would be behind if he managed to get out of this place without Hojo killing him first....

With some hesitation, he looked back at his arm. He had to lift his head to see it properly, still having trouble because his black hair was hanging limply over his eyes. He made out a glint though, which made him pause, his breath catching. Was there a tool in his arm still?

He winced and gasped as he lifted his upper body just enough for him to look down at the arm, since lifting it was completely out of the question.

Vincent swallowed. His eyes closed for a moment. The muscle and skin were pried back with some sort of surgical tool to reveal the innermost parts. And what he saw...it wasn't normal.

Why was there metal in his arm? Huge bone-like pieces?

His eyes darted back to the pile by the container he had looked at a minute earlier. He stared at them, his mouth opening slightly. Bones. They were bones. Hojo was replacing the bones?

Vincent could feel the weaker part of himself panic, but he tried to remain calm. Sephiroth would never hurt him. Sephiroth was trying to help him. He would never let Hojo do something that wasn't in his best interest....

There had to be an explanation. It had to have been done for a reason....

He didn't have much time to think on it, as one of the doors to the room he was in slid open with a beep. Vincent instinctively laid back onto the table, trying to quell his agitated nerves and ignore the constant biting pain.

_Sephiroth wouldn't allow me to be hurt. He wouldn't._

Hojo approached the table, his look turning to displeasure as he realized the boy had awoken. He roughly grabbed a prepped needle laying on the same tabletop as all of the refuse.

Vincent could tell it was Hojo just by seeing the man in his peripheral vision. He tried not to think about it.

"Awake? How wonderful..." Hojo giggled, the sound depraved, frightening.

Vincent couldn't stop himself from flinching from the malevolence of the noise, the movement inadvertently filling his body with instantaneous pain. He tried not to let out a yelp, instead releasing a very shaky breath.

"I'm afraid now is not the time though. You need to sleep." Hojo smiled wickedly, shoving the needle into Vincent's arm, his grip above the boy's elbow far tighter than necessary.

Vincent hadn't expected the needle and lightly yanked his arm in protest, though Hojo's grip did not falter in the least.

"Where's Sephiroth?" Vincent managed, knowing he didn't have much time to ask questions. He didn't even know if Hojo would answer him.

Hojo withdrew the needle, then tossed it offhandedly into a wastebasket. "No need to worry about him," Hojo said, still grinning in that unsettling way that made Vincent not only suspicious, but extremely uncomfortable. It was the smile of someone who had long ago lost their grip on reality....

The door beeped again. A man walked in much more slowly than Hojo had, leaning against a table lazily. Vincent could feel the man's eyes on him after a few seconds, staring intently.

He had strange white hair (it was too white to be called blonde, and even lighter than 'platinum') that stuck up in places, and partially concealed his extremely light blue eyes. Even though his hair was so pure in shade, like untouched snow, it seemed to be unwashed, greasy even.

The first thing that came to Vincent's mind oddly enough, was 'tainted innocence'.

He could feel the sedative taking effect, his eyelids becoming even heavier, his muscles starting to slacken from the tenseness Hojo had brought to them. He allowed his eyes to close almost all the way, but kept them open just enough to see what was going on. He couldn't sleep yet...they were up to something.

"Did you get it?" Hojo asked shortly, his eyes on Vincent, though he was speaking to his assistant.

Craven lifted three hermetically sealed tubes that were propped on a small wire rack. He dangled the rack from his fingertips for a good measure, just to be an ass, then placed them on the table none too gently.

Vincent moved his head enough to look at what the man had put on the table. Whatever was in the tubes...if it was something that belonged to Hojo, it couldn't be good.

He could feel his awareness completely slipping away, and was barely able to hear Hojo's last words...

"Get everything prepped. We start now."


	15. You Cannot Sedate the Things You Hate

**A/N:** Late update, sorry! I skipped one day of updating, then when I came on here last night it wouldn't let me submit any documents! I was SO mad! Anyway, to make up for it this chapter is basically two chapters. Also, the whole cliffhanger thing...it's not intentional. I've just been stopping when I get sleepy. So no, I'm not really trying to torture you, though...that could be fun :D My relatives also decided to appear out of thin air, but I will try to update as usual...we'll see...

I love you guys for reviewing :) It's so great to get some sort of feedback and hear all of your ideas as to what's going to happen. Anyway, huge thanks to all of these people: **kiralover44**, **Kiri Jyuu**, **NicotineGum**, **Gismo1**, **whatevergirl**, **Nalie**, **minoki**, **Risikaa**, **OvenBased**, **KT**, **Anonymous**, **hitsuni**, and **Tiny Koala**!

* * *

The labs were darker than usual. The overhead lights had been switched off, leaving the phosphorescent glow of the swirling mako in the nearby tanks to provide dim illumination. The chemicals bubbled, making strange pinpoints of light race over the linoleum floor and play across the walls.

The little specks passed over Vincent's face for a moment, though he was not awake to see it. His eyes flitted back and forth behind his lids. His breathing had become rapid, unsteady. The formerly placid room was filled with the noise of beeps of warning as monitors picked up disturbances.

Vincent was strapped down to a medical table, his face dangerously pale, his small body uncharacteristically tense. His head moved to the side slowly, while the fingers of his right hand began to curl, folding in toward his palm.

* * *

_**It was dank, smelling of earth and smoke and blood. He sniffed several times before inhaling the scents deeply into his expansive chest. He wanted experience them fully, evaluate them. **_

_**Death. Humans. Fire. That was what his sensitive nose detected.**_

_**He snorted when a particularly strong whiff of smoke was blown into his face from the merciless wind. His breath rose, small little puffs that slithered upward and dispersed. Cold, it was very cold. The wind made him shiver slightly even with his thick, protective coat.**_

_**The matted greyish purple fur was thick and bristled, brushed with touches of black on the ends, much like the guard hairs on the body of a wolf.**_

_**He gave a small shake, sending the droplets of dew that dotted his coat flying to the ground. His yellow eyes were focused on the tree line, the place where the smells came from, the smells that always meant danger. **_

_**Humans, and they were close....**_

_**There were pockets of fog throughout the woods, obscuring the rich aromatic dirt and drifting between the tall beige trunks of the trees as the beast moved cautiously, his head bowed, expectant. Each step was measured, quiet and slow, his taloned feet sinking into the dark, wet earth. He flexed one of his clawed hands in anticipation, eyes narrowed, intent. Predatory. **_

_**Something was moving through the fog ahead; his keen smell and sharp vision told him as much. **_

_**He couldn't suppress the instinctive rumble that reverberated through his chest, coming out lowly through his clenched, yellowed teeth. Stranger. Human. A man had appeared from behind the fog, his white lab coat fluttering in the breeze as his figure became more and more clearly defined.**_

_**The man was smiling evilly, his eyes holding a cruelty behind the round glasses.**_

_**The beast roared angrily and in confusion, not sure what about this man was so familiar. The scent? His face? Whatever it was, it made him instantly stiffen, lips drawn back over his pointed, deadly teeth in grimace of warning. **_

_**The man was not to be trusted. Dangerous. His scent was all wrong.**_

"_**Oh, it's only just begun..." the man taunted. **_

_**The man's grin widened until it seemed as though his face would tear from the tension. **_

_**Then he laughed, throwing his head back, his mouth opened. Insane. Dark. Sadistic. But the sound meant nothing to the monster; it was a human sound he didn't understand. What he did understand was the aggression that rolled off of the man, polluting the air, assaulting his senses. The sound wasn't right, just as the man wasn't. **_

_**The beast, not one for planning, lunged unexpectedly, covering the ground with excessive speed, his clawed feet ripping through the dirt. The man did not seem to care during the split second he saw the monster coming toward him, because he did not try to evade the creature, but continued with his crazy laughter. **_

_**The beast threw his body skillfully toward the unwelcome human, taloned grip outstretched. His mouth and hand-like paws were about to rip into soft, weak flesh....**_

* * *

"Get another sedative!" Hojo shouted, trying in vain to hold down the thick, furred arm that had come dangerously close to slashing across his throat.

Hojo let go without second thought when he knew it was no use, backing away from the table where the monster was still relatively restrained, though its left arm had come loose in one easy motion. The straps were enforced with inner steel wires, though they had proven to be no problem for the creature, unlike the boy.

Craven was hurriedly filling a syringe, his eyes darting to the strange thing that was laying on the table, almost werewolf-like.

Huge horns had sprouted from its large head, sharp and curved, pushing through a dense, curled mane of silver-tinted hair. The snout was shorter than a wolf's, more rounded, thicker, with a small fringe of reddish orange hair beneath, growing around the neck and meeting up with the silver mane. Its head was almost like a male lion's with the mane, yet its facial structure was distinctively similar to a wolf in most respects.

The beast snarled at Hojo in particular, pushing forward and popping another, more loose strap free so that its torso was completely off of the table, while its lower body was still pinned down by the more well-constructed bindings and shackles attached to its ankles. Its yellow eyes were radiating hate, while spittle dripped from its gaping mouth and wet the greyish fur on its chest.

"Here," Craven said, shoving the needle into Hojo's hand. He wasn't about to go near the thing; it was on the verge of killing something.

Hojo went for the lower body, one of the legs. They had removed the casts a few days earlier in anticipation, and it appeared that the bones had more or less healed for the most part anyway.

He jabbed it into the flesh, sinking the plunger in one movement of his thumb.

The beast positively roared, the sound overwhelmingly loud in such a confined area. Its jowls were hanging open, and its freed arm was swinging wildly at Hojo who was just out of reach, much to its frustration.

Hojo sneered, again moving back. The beast seemed to register what the look meant this time around, because suddenly it lurched forward with a renewed strength, fighting through the drugs that were trying to calm it.

With another bellow it was suddenly released from the straps that covered its narrow, muscled stomach, giving the claws just the amount of reach required.

Hojo didn't have time to react as the strong, relentless fingers raked across the vulnerable skin of his abdomen, leaving five instant lines of blood through his torn, tattered lab coat.

Hojo cried out in pain, though his face twisted in rage. He had been propelled backward by the blow, thrown roughly into a nearby lab table that bit into his lower back from the force.

The beast was frothing. Its teeth gnashed as it struggled, claws tearing angrily at the bonds that held it to the table. Realizing that the last straps weren't going to come free, nor were the shackles, it seemed to reach a solution. It threw its body forward, easily causing the heavy lab table to teeter. It repeated the movement, letting out a roar of frustration just as the table tipped completely, falling unceremoniously on its side with a loud metallic bang, the beast still trapped to it.

Craven fled the room in that instant, rushing toward the door, not interested in playing hero for any reason. Hojo only glowered at his retreating back, before looking back to the monster that was already showing signs of slowing.

The beast was not prepared to give up; its rage had been ignited. With a forceful strike, its claws dug into the linoleum, leaving ten residual holes as it dragged itself and the lab table slowly forward, the heaviness causing its muscles to bunch and contract with the effort.

It was growling, its snout wrinkling in anger, as it tried to move forward. The lab table was already becoming too much though, as the drugs began to kick in more fully.

It knew it wanted to kill the human. It was so close...but it couldn't move.

It fought, face concentrated as it smacked its hands down onto the floor, trying to advance even through its sudden weakness. It was with an audible grunt that its grip slackened uncontrollably. Its angry glowing eyes were fixed on Hojo who had not moved, but was smiling even through the pain in his chest.

"Did you believe you could kill me?" Hojo laughed mockingly, that matching sardonic smile wicked.

The yellowed eyes were starting to lose their intensity, but they didn't stop glaring hatefully until the beast could no longer manage to hold them open.

It could smell the blood on its claws.

* * *

Sephiroth had been awake for hours contemplating his situation.

It had been too long. Hojo should have been back several minutes ago. The IV pack was no longer providing a steady drip, but had run out of nutrient enriched water. Though he felt as weak and paralyzed as ever, he knew that the drugs could start wearing off if he was left alone long enough.

The fury had built up to an astoundingly powerful sensation, one he could feel in almost every part of his body. Hojo had been injecting him periodically, and not just with sedatives. Whatever the new drugs were, they were again doing nothing to stifle the rage that was searching for escape, catharsis. There was no way of venting while tied and paralyzed.

It had to have been days since Hojo first locked him in the room. Though Sephiroth had been in an almost coma-like state, and catatonia the rest, he could feel the passage of time. It was there, present like something tangible; he just knew.

Time. The more time, the more damage Hojo would cause, the more likely it would be that Vincent would die or be so badly experimented upon that he would not be salvageable.

Sephiroth knew what Hojo was capable of; he had seen some of the experiments with his own eyes. Men strapped to tables with bodies that were half monster and barely human at all. Strange tanks with human appendages floating through the mako aimlessly, while the bodies were stacked in the back room like sides of meat for Hojo to test chemicals on.

And then there was always himself, he mused. Hojo's use of drugs on him were not just the cause of his strengths, but his weaknesses. The impetuous recklessness, the anger, the numbness at times...it was all from Hojo's mako injections. Though he had _willingly_ allowed Hojo to experiment on him later in his life, he reminded himself. He could have stopped the treatments at any time, but he feared what he would become naturally more than what Hojo could turn him into....

He was different, he knew. He had always known, ever since he was a small silver-haired child growing up in the lab because his mother Jenova had died giving birth to him.... But why would she send him to Hojo of all people, why _that_ man? Why could there not have been _anybody_ else?

It was Hojo's treatment of him as purely an object destined for SOLDIER that had turned his emotions steely, dark even. It was Hojo's constant proclamations of how useless and weak he was that had convinced him to be the best that there could be.... He had not wanted to be a hero, he had simply wanted to be the best, the strongest, the _least_ weak. He did it because he had nothing else, no other foreseeable future, and he did it to make a point.

But Vincent was just a boy. He didn't grow up in a lab with Hojo as one of the few people he was exposed to. If Hojo was doing something to him, he would take it very differently than Sephiroth himself ever had. Sephiroth was used to it after all. There had hardly been a day during his youth when he wasn't being tested or checked or used like something without feelings. He had simply accepted that that was the way of things, of the world. Pain was inevitable.

Sephiroth could feel the power fading, that strange sensation of rigid control over him losing its edge. The medication was wearing off, just as he suspected. He focused on reading his body, anticipating each and every breath, _feeling_ his limbs. It was mind over matter. He knew he could fight through it if he put every piece of willpower into it. There had been enough time.

It was opening his eyes that he tried first. Naturally, and not to his surprise, nothing happened. His eyelids were still completely closed. He hadn't even managed to open them the tiniest sliver. He thought of blinking, of looking into the bright sun and opening and shutting his eyes quickly.

He stopped his ministrations, however, when he heard a card key being slid into the lock on the door.

Hojo. He had come to give the next round of drugs. Sephiroth's fury flared like an overwhelming white-hot heat, spreading over his useless limbs.

But it was not Hojo...he could tell by the footsteps as they entered the room, which weren't the same type of short almost dragging ones as the scientist. It had to be Craven.

"Hello," Craven said cheerfully.

Sephiroth could hear the sound of a case being set clumsily onto the table. Craven never was one to respect someone else's property.

"How's your...extended sleep?" Craven was more talking to himself than anything, though the question was still came out sounding mocking in tone.

Shuffling of papers. The sound of a clipboard.

"I see Hojo has been giving you enough of this shit to knock out the Omega WEAPON," Craven stated with a short laugh at his own joke.

There was a click of the infamous pen, then the scratch of the ballpoint on paper.

"It's too bad it had to be this way. I enjoy you much more when I have the pleasure of talking to you while you're awake and able to glare at me." The tone was disappointed. Craven continued to mutter on: "You'd think Hojo, in all of his mad scientist craziness would have found something that cause more suffering than 'the white room'."

Sephiroth could hear the needle as it was forced through the top of the small jar that contained whatever drug Craven was going to pump into him.

"I think it's...kind of nice. Don't you? Charming in that antiseptic, hand sanitizer, antibacterial soap kind of way." Though Sephiroth couldn't see it, he knew Craven was smiling, revealing small, perfectly lined rows of white teeth in that mocking, irritating way of his.

There were footsteps again, this time coming very close to him. They stopped just when they got to the bed, close enough that he knew Craven must have been touching the mattress.

There was no further noise except Craven's breathing, just the feeling of being stared at, examined. Like a specimen. Like an object.

Then there was the sound of the air being forced out of the needle, so routine that there wasn't the noise of the small spray of whatever drug it contained, just the air.

"It really is too bad," Craven commented quietly.

Sephiroth could feel the fingers as they closed around his arm, almost reverently.

It was then, just as time had run out, that Sephiroth's eyes flew open. The light was bright and painful to his sensitive eyes, but he had no time to squint.

His right arm broke free of the leather harness without warning, only a second after his eyes had opened, the force so exceptionally powerful that he ripped the buckles clean off, one flying a few feet away from the bed and clattering to the floor.

Craven only had enough time to be shocked, as Sephiroth's infamously iron grasp caught him by the jacket. The material bunched in the black gloved hand, as with an easy grace, Sephiroth used the lab coat as leverage to throw the assistant into the side of his bed. The motion was so rough that Craven had to grab onto the metal guard rails in order to keep himself from tumbling off the other side of the mattress.

Sephiroth had just enough time to tear the thick brown leather strap from his head and throat with a swift, deft movement. He was so angry that it was effortless even in his state of weakness.

He wasn't fully free as Craven scrambled to right himself, holding the needle like a weapon in warning. Craven was at the end of the bed, hunched in anticipation and not quite brave enough to venture any closer, even to put the sedative in one of Sephiroth's legs. He was afraid of the General, the way the man was sitting up and could lunge for him at any time. Sephiroth fed on that fear by smiling triumphantly, knowing it would affect the assistant.

"I don't think so..." Craven said through a labored, panicked breath behind his mass of white, stringy hair. He did not come out sounding confident, and the hand that held the needle was unstable, shaking just enough that Sephiroth could detect it. His face, however, held anger.

Sephiroth was undoing the buckles, his furious sea green eyes intent on the cowering Craven. He ripped out the wires the were covering over his chest, irritated that they kept tangling in his fingers, and cast them aside angrily.

"Run," was all Sephiroth said, as he yanked one of his legs loose from the bonds.

Sephiroth's smile was sadistic, one that Hojo would have been highly envious of.

Craven's look of anger faltered, becoming more akin to fear. His white blue eyes flicked to the straps and Sephiroth's free leg, then back to the man's face. He seemed to have made up his mind.

With no further shows of bravery, Craven ran straight for the door, long too-white jacket streaming behind him. He yanked the door open abruptly and rushed out, not even bothering to look back as his footsteps pounded down the hall.

Sephiroth quickly managed to get all of the straps off of his body, then rose from the bed with quite a bit of trouble. His first few steps were staggered, and he knew instantly that he wouldn't be able to run after Craven...at least not for a few minutes. The assistant would likely run straight for Hojo, but this time he was prepared, he _knew_ that they were against him. It was a whole different game.

He pushed a hand against the wall, using it for balance as he advanced toward the case Craven had left behind. His vision blurred, the room blending together and making him sway involuntarily. He waited for a brief moment, but knew he could not cater to his weakened form; there was not time.

Each step was slow and made his muscles burn, but he ignored it, wrenching the small container open with a vengeance.

He grabbed a few needles from their holders, then selected a few of the drugs from the vast selection. He made sure that he pulled every last drop of liquid from each of the small little jars.

Whole new game.

* * *

He walked toward the labs at a swift pace, the buckles of his coat tapping and tinkering against his bare chest; he hadn't even bothered to close them.

Masamune was nowhere to be found, a problem he would have to solve later. For the time being he would settle for pure rage.

His magic was completely drained; whatever Hojo had been giving him was meant to weaken him physically, and had a similar effect on his other abilities. It was his anger that was giving his steps the surety he was known for, not his body.

When he neared one of the doorways, he halted, instinctively pressing into the wall to wait.

"He'll kill us—" It was Craven's voice.

"Hardly," Hojo answered, almost inaudibly.

Sephiroth smiled darkly. It was for the best that he found them before he found Vincent. It suited his mood quite well.

He walked around the corner without apprehension, his wrath fueling a recklessness he rarely indulged in. He knew he had the upper hand; it mattered little whether or not he overly planned. Hojo and Craven had much to answer to.

Hojo only looked upon Sephiroth with distaste, while Craven's blue eyes widened. Craven visibly shrunk in posture, looking ready to bolt, though he still had the needle in his hand from earlier, as though it would somehow protect him from the fury that was Sephiroth.

Sephiroth noticed that Hojo's labcoat was ripped across the front, with large bloody trails that looked to have cut deeply if they had so easily cone through the man's clothing. Underneath the slashes there was a hint of white, likely gauze. Interesting.

"Where is the Third?" Sephiroth stated venomously, not caring whether or not he seemed completely out of control.

Sephiroth's posture stiffened suddenly, and he turned, sensing someone coming from behind down the long corridor, though the footsteps were light and would have gone unheard by most.

"Private Johns." Sephiroth said the name tonelessly, all the while keeping watch on Hojo and Craven from the corner of his eye, though they were a good distance from him, nearly on the other side of the expansive room.

It was clear upon appearance that Sephiroth was not the only one who was receiving treatments from Hojo. Johns was much larger in build, his muscles strained to the point that his veins stuck out starkly from his tanned skin. The eyes were the most telling, however, as it proved that the enhancements he had gotten were not simply the result of mako. Sephiroth ventured to guess that Johns had allowed Hojo to experiment on him quite extensively. For some reason, that did not surprise the General.

"Sephiroth," Johns said with a hint of anger, his glowing eyes radiant with malevolence. Johns quickly looked over to Hojo, making sure the scientist hadn't been touched. "Hojo said there was a problem here," Johns said finally, grinning.

"There is," Sephiroth answered with a perfectly malicious smile.

Johns was pissed. To see Sephiroth after harboring such ill will for the man caused all the hatred to instantly flare, consuming his senses. He might finally be able to get the revenge he was seeking.

Johns swung first---nice and heavy to Sephiroth's amusement---as he came rushing through the doorway. The General avoided it easily, even with his own reflexes which were still very dulled by the drugs he had been given. The man went for him again, fist flying for Sephiroth's face, but again he did not meet flesh, as a firm grip snatched his arm, halting its progress in an almost offhanded fashion.

Sephiroth tightened his hold, letting out a mocking laugh as Johns tried with his other fist, only for him to have his yanked arm painfully to his side at an awkward angle, his back to Sephiroth. The muscles of Johns's arms expanded under the tension, bulging with the black gunk that trailed through his veins.

"Tell me, Johns, how was it you managed to make your way through SOLDIER?"

Sephiroth released Johns carelessly, sending the man stumbling for balance.

Johns's look of anger turned to pure rage. "Fuck you, you piece of shit! You think I care what you think? You're nothing but Shinra's whore!"

With that, Johns stormed toward Sephiroth, striking again. The General only blocked lazily with his forearm, letting out a sardonic, hateful laugh.

"Is that the best you can do?" Sephiroth taunted, his smile cruel.

Hojo and Craven were only watching, neither moving from their place toward the back of the room. Craven look mildly horrified, while Hojo looked somewhat amused, even giggling at times when Johns flailed around gracelessly. Fortunately, Johns didn't exactly have the time to notice just who Hojo was laughing at.

Johns positively raged, trying to hit anything within reach. His huge arms swung in an arc, one after the other, predictably, even with the hurriedness and desperation of the movements. Sephiroth showed no signs of being rushed or concerned, casting off each attack with a nonchalance that only incited Johns's fury.

Johns's face had turned darker from his anger, which Sephiroth took notice of. "Getting tired?"

Unexpectedly the General's fist went straight for John's throat, hitting the man directly in the Adam's apple. Johns coughed instantaneously, his large overgrown hands going for his neck. Sephiroth used the opportunity to grab Johns by an arm, sending him hurtling into a table stacked with medical equipment.

Everything was thrown from the table with a crash as the wheels propelled it backwards, Johns landing roughly on his ass in the center of the chaos.

"Feel that?" Sephiroth questioned, walking closer. "That is your throat closing up."

Johns was gasping, his complection getting darker and darker, his expression relaying his sudden panic as he rubbed at his neck. His mouth was gaping open, the deep breaths interrupted by a distinct wheezing.

"Where's the Third?" Sephiroth said flatly, looking to Hojo and Craven without even bothering to wait.

"He's indisposed," Hojo said after a moment, his mouth curved into a thin smile.

Craven looked rabbit-like, his eyes darting back and forth between Sephiroth, Hojo, and the doorway that he would have to go through the General to get to.

"_Where_ is he?" Sephiroth said dangerously ignoring Hojo's reply and taking several steps forward, his eyes falling upon the choking Johns with an open show of disgust.

"He's in lab ten," Craven blurted, not even looking over to Hojo who he knew would be glaring at him hatefully.

Sephiroth smiled cruelly. "You experimented on him, I presume?" Sephiroth stared directly into Hojo's eyes as he said it, the black slits that were his pupils narrowing almost imperceptibly.

Hojo let out a short laugh, "Grimoire's _son_ deserved no less."

Sephiroth frowned inwardly at the response. Vincent's father? Hojo had a vendetta against the boy's father? The name Grimoire was familiar; he had heard it before, somewhere. Obviously it was someone that Hojo despised. He knew asking about it would get him nowhere with the scientitst. He would have to wait to get any information regarding this 'Grimoire'.

Things were beginning to fit into place; Hojo was one to harbor a grudge forever. Had Hojo known who Vincent was the instant he was brought into the lab? It made sense.... It explained why the scientist would take such foolish risks that the man knew would make Sephiroth hate him even further. It was understandable, at least in that insane way that Hojo thought, a world based on revenge and hatred.

He didn't have time to think about it, however.

"What did you do to him?" Sephiroth demanded.

"He's a failure; you'll have no use for him," Hojo said in a bored tone, his deceitful eyes glancing over to Johns who was sputtering on the floor.

"You will fix him."

"There's nothing to fix."

Sephiroth strode forward, the movement so swift that Craven jumped backward reflexively. Sephiroth's black trenchcoat billowed about his ankles as he grabbed Hojo by his torn, bloody lab coat. He brought the man's face inches from his own, his blazing green eyes intense with emotion that he didn't bother to hide. He was so close he could smell Hojo's sour breath as it brushed against his face.

"You _will_ fix him," he said in a tone so dark that Johns began to struggle from his place on the floor.

Johns somehow managed to pull himself up unsteadily, fueled by his servile protection of Hojo. He rubbed at his neck and coughed loudly before speaking.

"Don't you threaten Hojo!" Johns breathed, his voice cracking as he took in huge gulps of air.

Sephiroth knew better than to turn his eyes from Hojo, so instead he only let out a humorless laugh.

"You have no business here, Johns. Go now before I find an excuse to end your life early."

Hojo's eyes had not left his own, evil and penetrating in their stare. "No, I will not fix him. He is useless to me." Hojo grinned at his own words.

"Fine," Sephiroth stated lowly, his green eyes flitting over the scientist for a moment.

His hand had disappeared into his coat unnoticed, but when he pulled out the needle, there was a sudden glint in Hojo's eyes. Fear? It happened so quickly that Sephiroth did not have time to assess its possible meaning.

With a quick motion, he stabbed the needle into Hojo's vulnerable neck, letting it sink in as the drug pumped into the carotid artery relentlessly. The action caused Craven to gasp, eyes wide, though his expression was a combination of anger and concern for himself.

Hojo's hands had gone to the needle, but could do nothing as Sephiroth held it there for a brief few seconds. Hojo's look was of pure anger and hatred, so powerful that had Sephiroth not experienced the look before he might had literally taken a step back.

Johns rushed forward, slower than before, and coughing when he realized what the General had done. Sephiroth easily released Hojo from his grasp, spinning around to face Johns who he had known was coming.

"What was that?!" Johns asked, his eyes filling with worry as he saw Hojo clutching onto the counter behind him in effort to not fall to the floor.

Sephiroth had stepped farther away from the scientist, half facing him, half facing Johns. The last thing he needed was for Hojo to catch him in the back.

Craven had retreated into the corner, his greasy white hair half concealing his narrowed eyes, untrusting eyes.

Johns had moved to the side of the scientist, "Hojo? What was it? What did he do?" His gaze traveled over to Sephiroth, filling with loathing and complete rage. "You..." he said in an undertone, again coughing wildly from his swelled throat.

"It's too bad you haven't choked to death yet," Sephiroth commented, looking the epitome of cold and unfeeling. The demented smile had left his face. He turned, his eyes trailing over the crumpling form of Hojo as he began to go toward the doorway.

"Craven," Sephiroth ordered, a leather-clad finger gesturing the man to come to him.

Craven's look of fear intensified. He looked over to Hojo, who had just slumped to the floor, then to Johns, who was staring at Sephiroth in utter hatred as he knelt next to Hojo in concern, then finally to the General himself.

Craven said nothing, timidly moving from his spot and making his way hesitantly toward Sephiroth. Sephiroth began to walk away, looking unprepared, though he wasn't. Craven was smart enough not to try anything, and simply trailed behind him.

"Don't you dare turn your back on me!" Johns said, though he kept looking to Hojo as if to decide what he should do. He had a hand on the scientists shoulder as he rose.

Sephiroth glanced back in arrogant disregard. "I wouldn't be, had you paid SOLDIER and its recruits the courtesy of doing your job properly. I have no respect for you now."

He kept walking, knowing Johns would not follow.

* * *

What Sephiroth saw made him force himself to take in an even, steady breath.

Whatever was on the table wasn't Vincent. It was a monster. There was little about it that looked human in any sense. There were chains hooked over its body, along with several thick black straps that were adjusted so tightly that they were visibly cutting into the flesh beneath the layer of fur on the torso.

The loud breathing was deep, filled with a bestial grunt each time it left the barrel chest. A large breathing mask had been strapped over the creatures mouth and nose, which made Sephiroth look twice. A respirator?

Sephiroth took a step forward, keeping an eye on Craven who had already begun to slink back toward the doorway. Sephiroth turned his head and gave him a steely glance, then gestured again for the man to come closer. Craven obeyed without protest, remaining quiet as he had the entire walk to the room. He was obviously fearing for his life. It was nice to know that it silenced his mouth.

"You're sure this is the boy I brought here?" Sephiroth said, hiding the gnawing guilt that was overwhelming him. He could feel a prickling over his forehead and face.

"Yes," Craven answered quietly, his white-blue eyes focusing on the creature with a detached interest, though his posture was stiff and jumpy due to the presence of Sephiroth.

Sephiroth looked back to the beast on the table, taking a few steps toward it. He placed a gloved hand on its forehead, waiting for a moment to prepare himself.

"How do I know this is the boy?" Sephiroth questioned, his eyes locking onto Craven's.

"Video feed," Craven said shortly, pointing up to a camera in the corner of the room. "We've been monitoring it constantly throughout the process."

"Show me."

Craven led Sephiroth through the maze of chrome medical tables, before stopping in front of a monitor that had been installed directly into the wall. It had four large screens, all of which worked in sync when turned on.

They flickered to life, showing the current recording. It was of the backs of both Craven and Sephiroth, standing in front of the screen. With a click of a remote, Craven paused the feed, then quickly set it back to about two hours earlier. After fast forwarding for a few seconds, he stopped when the figure of Vincent on the bed started to shake uncontrollably.

Sephiroth could feel the fury rise in him instantly toward Hojo and Craven, mixing in with concern and disbelief at what the recording revealed.

Vincent's small body convulsed, arching against the restraints as the changes began to take place. It started in his midsection, the distinct pop and crackle of bones changing their shape, as the skin began to stretch, easily ripping the material of his medical smock to expose the white skin beneath.

The pigmentation started to alter, just as the distinct lines of his ribcage could be seen expanding underneath the skin. More disturbing sounds of crunching, moving bone. Vincent's face had started to lengthen, the jaw descending, the skin curling back over the newly-formed rows of jagged, carnivorous teeth. The video was dark, but it was focused in purely on Vincent, the zoom close enough that the smallest details could be seen even in the bad lighting.

Then the fur began to appear, growing swiftly over the body, making a fringe of thick mane all the way around the wolfish head. The horns pushed out from his skull, small at first, and somewhat bloody from what Sephiroth could see, before fully extending. His clawed hands developed as well, his fingers forming into points at the ends, while his feet separated into three distinct toes, somewhat like a large bird of prey, with deadly black talons to match.

It took awhile before Vincent's panicked breaths (it was Vincent, he reminded himself) slowed down a bit, and the metamorphosis finally completed.

Craven stopped the recording, turning to Sephiroth. The silver-haired man's expression was unreadable. His head bowed slightly for a moment, his veil of plush, shining hair covering over his face. Just like that, it was gone. He looked back to Craven, his expression cool, before he turned and walked back to where Vincent was.

There was an extended silence before Sephiroth finally spoke. "What..." Sephiroth paused, green eyes assessing. "What exactly was done to him?"

Craven's look grew more worried than it had been. He knew he had to answer. "We used a form of DNA splicing. It was supposed to be similar to the fictional idea of werewolves...but...it didn't quite go as planned..." Craven managed a half smile, which was somewhat sarcastic. With the look Sephiroth gave him in response, however, it instantly died.

"DNA from what?"

"Uh...Berserker? Among other things. We combined different traits to make an altered beast," Craven replied, his eyes watching Sephiroth nervously, gauging responses.

"By werewolf, you mean that it was intended for him to switch between human and beast?"

Sephiroth's eyes had not left the creature, trying to find some indication that it had once in fact been Vincent. It did have an underlying scent that seemed to be Vincent, but otherwise....

"Yeah. Well...four forms. Three bestial, then his regular human form."

"Three?" Sephiroth's look was dangerous, but Craven nodded out of duty anyway. "Why? What was the purpose?"

"Super soldiers. Weapons. We've been prompted by Klein-Green to try something along these lines. They wanted something versatile, which is why there is more than one form."

"But it hasn't worked," Sephiroth stated more than asked. "What three forms?"

"Well, that one there," Craven said with a nervous wave of his hand toward the table, "is the Galian Beast. Then there is what Hojo has called Death Gigas and another called the Hell Masker. Each is...unique. Suited to specific purposes."

"And has he changed into the other forms?" Sephiroth questioned, moving around the table to look at the monster. It was hard to think of it as Vincent. The boy was caring and almost... innocent, while the beast was so extraordinarily different. So harsh, dark.

"We implanted them, completely rearranging the specimen's DNA and RNA, but like I said, it didn't really work," Craven answered. He had loosened up a bit from the conversation, though he was still very tense.

Craven knew that the General could possibly kill him if he was not useful. He still wasn't even sure what it was the silver-haired man had put into Hojo. It could have been anything. He was not keen on sharing a similar fate.

"How did you implant it?" Sephiroth asked.

"A cold, actually. It was used to 'take over' cells, reprogram them. Easier than any other way." Craven responded, unsure as to whether or not the General wanted a more in-depth scientific description.

"Could you undo it?"

Craven scratched his head of white hair in discomfort. "Not really..."

Sephiroth's look turned murderous, which quickly convinced Craven to keep talking.

"Look, what's in there has to stay. There is not really much of a chance of removing it. Think of it like a sexually transmitted infection.... Basically you can mask it, but it's still there. It's floating around permanently, and when certain environmental conditions inside the body aren't met, the virus flares up. Like a cold sore. Most of the time you don't get them, but sometimes you do, especially when you are under mental or physical strain." Craven was looking at Sephioth expectantly as he finished, pushing his stringy hair to the side of his face.

"So you're saying even if we do mask it, there is a significant chance it will 'flare up'?"Sephiroth asked, his gaze scrutinizing.

"Yeah. In a nutshell."

"How do we mask it then?"

"Well...I don't really know." Craven realized his mistake, then added quickly: "I don't think Hojo knows either. But I might know something we could check into."

Sephiroth said nothing, his cold gaze making Craven flinch.

"Grimoire...this guy called Grimiore Valentine..." Sephiroth's attention became acute at the sound of the name. "He was working on this theory...something about an entity called Chaos. It supposedly comes directly from the Lifestream."

Grimoire was likely a scientist. So was Hojo. It was turning out to sound like some sort of academic feud, or perhaps just jealousy and hatred on the part of Hojo, which Sephiroth wouldn't doubt in the least.

"You want to add another monster?" Sephiroth said accusingly, drawing a quick conclusion, while keeping his other thoughts to himself.

"The problem isn't just that the forms aren't working," Craven confessed, biting at a pale pink lip. Sephiroth's eyes narrowed, but Craven kept talking. "Hojo put it under a little while ago after it woke up and transformed for the first time.... And well...it's basically in a death-like state now."

Sephiroth's stare did not become any less intense, and actually made Craven cringe.

"That's why I was giving you your injection. Its vitals failed right after it was sedated, and Hojo tried to resuscitate it.... But it seems like the transformation might have been too much on the specimen's body, because its heart gave out. Now it's barely beating at all, something like 10 beats per minute, which shouldn't even be able to sustain life.... He's more or less dead." Craven nodded over to a machine in the corner. "That is keeping it breathing for now."

Sephiroth's eyes closed briefly, then he spoke: "Why Chaos?"

"According to Grimoire's research with his assistant Lucrecia, there are two WEAPONS: Omega and Chaos. Technically Chaos is the lesser WEAPON, dominated somewhat by Omega. It's all theory, but supposedly a WEAPON is something that guards The Planet, protects it. They are direct products of the Lifestream, as all of us are thought to be, but they are also...different. Think of them as angels in comparison to humans. We implant part of Chaos...ideally it might be like implanting life itself."

"Ideally? It's conjecture. How do you know this Chaos won't cause more problems than are already present? You don't. Scientists started injecting Mako from the Lifestream before they even understood it, and you have seen what that causes," Sephiroth stated flatly.

"Look, I've been over it with Hojo a hundred times. He doesn't even want to believe in Chaos or Omega, because he hated Grimoire. It's a shot in the dark, yes, but it's the best I can give you," Craven said, somewhat irritated, though his look was apologetic because he feared for his life.

Sephiroth walked away from Craven, going to stand at the edge of the table, deep in thought. There was much to consider.

If Vincent even lived...Sephiroth did not know what he would ever tell him. It was more than likely the boy would never forgive Sephiroth for putting him in the path of someone as mad as Hojo; he probably would have preferred death to what had been done to him.

Sephiroth released a pained sigh as he stared at the monster that had formerly been Vincent. He did not notice the keen interest Craven paid to it.

Sephiroth knew what should be done. He knew just like he had known when he had found Vincent on the brink of death in the rubble. It would be cowardice to not face his mistake, Sephiroth knew, but it would be completely unfair to force the boy to live with such a condition, should a way even be found to somehow mask over his new...traits.

There was also no strong certainty with Craven's ideas on Chaos. It would be something Sephiroth would need to find the reports on and read through thoroughly were he to accept that as an option. What he hated the most was the that decision was his own. Vincent could not make it for himself; he was incapable. The choice should have been his, not Sephiroth's.

The boy should be let go. Hojo had already called him a failed experiment, which didn't bode well coming from a man who could scientifically transcend death with his questionable methods. Though Sephiroth didn't want to accept it, Vincent was...finished. There was a monster lying on the table, no Vincent Valentine.

Sephiroth's gloved fist clenched inside his coat. What could be done? What choice could he make? If the boy lived he might hate it, hate it more than he would inevitably hate Sephiroth. The General could deal with the boy's loathing toward himself, though he wouldn't like it... What he couldn't deal with was the boy being resentful. Hating his life. Hating every part of himself, as Sephiroth did at times. It was a state of being he would never wish on someone like Vincent. It would be...utterly unfair.

He couldn't help thinking back to the boy in the rubble, the tear-filled maroon eyes staring up at him, begging him to do something, to somehow make it work....

Sephiroth would have put his head in his hands had Craven not been present.

The boy wanted to live more than anything.... But like this? As another of Hojo's experiments gone array?

He cared for the boy, more than he should have. He appreciated him, much like he appreciated Zack, even if he didn't show it in the same manner as Angeal did.

There were so many things to consider, but those words, 'more than anything', kept coming back, repeating like a mantra.

If Sephiroth did everything in his power to allow Vincent to live...the consequences would be all on himself. The side effects, the emotional problems that were undoubtedly going to be a part of it, the boy's hatred of him.... As long as the blame was on himself and Vincent didn't direct it inward, it would work.

He could let Vincent live, as long as the boy knew that none of it was his fault, that he, Sephiroth, had done his best to keep the promise that he had unwittingly made when he had never thought of what could possibly be in store....

The boy would live. Vincent would live, if such a thing were still possible. Sephiroth would ensure it, because he kept his promises.

* * *

**A/N:** I hope this isn't full of mistakes; I was really rushed when editing. Sorry for the ending point as well, but it was already 8000 words!


	16. Loose Ends

**A/N:** I finally managed to finish up another chapter. This one is another cliff hanger... :( I was going to include the next chapter with this one, but I'm far too tired, and I didn't want to give you all a shitty piece of writing. Unfortunately this chapter doesn't have Chaos in, it's more me fixing all the loose ends. I'll leave Chaos for when I'm actually conscious.

I LOVE my reviewers! You are all awesome in about a million different ways! I would not be running with the story were it not for your wonderful comments! That would be: **RedHerring1412**, **minoki**, **Kyuubi-ismy-homie**, **kyothefallenkit**, **Marezuls**, **OvenBased**, **CaseyAnn'sPrecious**, **NicotineGum**, **Kiri Jyuu**, **hitsuni**, **whatevergirl**, **Gismo1**, **KT**, **kiralover44**, **DelphiProphesy**, **Anonymous**, **Nalie**, and **Risikaa**! Since OvenBased asked, I will confess it takes me about five to six hours a chapter...on a good day.

Huge thank you to The Final Fantasy Wiki site for having some helpful articles on things I was unsure of.

* * *

Craven dutifully handed over Masamune, though not without some reluctance. His fingers and their filth-encrusted nails were wrapped around the blue ray skin handle somewhat possessively. Sephiroth took the blade from him, noticing the way Craven's eyes stayed fixed on the glinting, wicked metal. The General looked the weapon over almost imperceptibly.

There were fingerprints on the blade, which Sephiroth saw immediately. He said nothing of it, however, simply returning the beloved weapon to its rightful place upon his back.

It hadn't been difficult to convince Craven to show him where Masamune had been taken; Sephiroth did not even need to threaten him. What was odd, however, was that Craven had taken it into his small, cramped office that was scattered with paperwork and textbooks. It had been laying on the desk that was overflowing with papers, looking very much out of place.

"I want you to get as much information on Chaos as you are able. Go through Hojo's own work if you must; I don't care how you get it done," Sephiroth ordered.

Craven was making his way out the door of his office, the General behind him. Craven looked back at the man when he had spoken, and nodded.

"Also make certain to bring me whatever reports or documents have to do with what was done to the Third," Sephiroth added, already moving past Craven.

"Yes, of course," Craven answered, doing his best to keep his traditional mocking tone out of his voice.

Sephiroth was being short with him as it was, he would need to stay on the man's good side as much as possible if he wanted to live any longer.

Craven had considered running off, leaving the lab altogether, but Sephiroth had already warned him against it, threatening to track him down and kill him. And not outright. He had made it more than clear that it would be done slowly. That was reason enough to do what the man said.

Sephiroth was not someone to pit oneself against, and Craven had already more or less done that.... It would not be unlike the man to hunt him down like prey and take his time slaughtering him.

Craven frowned from behind the strings of his white hair. He needed to get to work.

* * *

After retrieving his sword and sending Craven off, the General made his way back to the room he had left both Hojo and Johns in.

What he found wasn't all that unexpected.

As he entered the brightly-lit room at a swift pace, two sets of eyes locked onto him, looking up from the unmoving form of Hojo. Sephiroth's gloved hand had already snaked into one of the pockets of his leather trenchcoat, long, elegant fingers finding one of the two needles that still remained.

Hojo had been moved to one of the chrome operating tables, with Johns hovering over him while one of the scientist's lab assistants was worriedly glancing to machines every few seconds. Wires were strung everywhere, just as they had been when Sephiroth was unconscious. One of the large screens in the room had been switched on, displaying vitals and other general information.

Upon seeing Sephiroth, Johns immediately moved from behind the table. He rounded on the General, his expression turning from concern for Hojo to an instant dark hatred for the silver-haired man that had returned.

Sephiroth's grip tightened around the needle. He took his time withdrawing it from inside of his coat, watching Johns stare down at what he was doing. After a moment, Sephiroth held it out for Johns to easily see. Johns stopped midstep, his eyes going to the object in the General's hand. Sephiroth held it between thumb and forefinger, looking to it casually and emotionlessly.

"How is Hojo?" Sephiroth asked coldly.

Johns's face twisted even further, the lips thinning while his brow wrinkled in absolute loathing.

"How dare you..." Johns breathed, his voice sounding raspier than it usually did. His yellow eyes were focused on the needle, though they darted to Sephiroth as well, glowing evilly.

Sephiroth could see a large roundish red patch on Johns's neck, one that would most certainly develop into a dark-colored bruise. Sephiroth smiled mentally, rolling the needle between his fingers as his fathomless sea green eyes watched Johns.

The assistant had turned completely from his ministrations, watching the conflict with an apprehensive look on his face.

Sephiroth was unaware of the lackey's name; Hojo was so paranoid it was rare for there to be more than one assistant in the lab at any given time. Hojo was constantly guarding possessively over whatever work he did. It was likely that the assistant was staying the bowels of the building, where Hojo's and Craven's quarters were and Sephiroth himself had a small room he had used during particularly bad treatments where leaving immediately was not an option.

The building wasn't even guarded by human beings (though it was extremely high security); everything was automated. Hojo didn't even trust guards to be anywhere near his labs. The security was so intense, that the skeletons of small birds and other animals could be found littered around the perimeter of the building, shot dead by the automated artillery that attacked anything that moved and did not have clearance.

It was easier that way, however, as it had prevented Sephiroth from being attacked when he had finally freed himself of the white room. Even had there been guards, it wouldn't have mattered, he reflected.

"I need to know what you gave him," the assistant said quietly, walking up behind Johns as though the man's body would protect him.

Johns hadn't moved from his place, his glowing yellow eyes caught on the needle the General held delicately between his black-gloved fingers.

"It won't help you any," Sephiroth said lightly, his expression stony. His green eyes had moved to the needle and were staring at it with an obvious fascination.

"There are drugs that can be used to—"

"To reverse the effects, yes, I'm aware," Sephiroth interrupted, his tone cold and measured. "You won't be reversing anything. In fact, you're going to be leaving the premises, along with _Private _Johns," Sephiroth stated.

"We won't be doing anything!" Johns said angrily, his fury causing him to step forward even closer toward the statuesque Sephiroth. "Hojo needs to be awakened! If you even try to do anything else, you'll be going through me!" Johns threatened, the veins of his neck standing out from his tan skin grotesquely bumpy and black.

Sephiroth said nothing, simply holding the needle as Johns began to rant. Sephiroth could sense the mako rising in the man, polluting any chance he had for coherent thought.

"Get out!" Johns screeched. "Hojo has to be fixed! I won't let you get away with this!" One of his overly-large fingers pointed accusingly at Sephiroth. "You're crazy! A product of Shinra and their fascism! All you do is order people around, not giving a shit about anyone but yourself!"

"Fascism is a rather large word for you. Tell me, did you learn it from Hojo?" Sephiroth questioned, still speaking without inflection.

Johns's entire body emanated rage. His lips pulled back like a beast about to growl threateningly.

Johns's yellow eyes had already traveled toward some of the discarded medical equipment, catching on one of the saws used for cutting through bone and other material. He moved over to the table quickly, still screaming at Sephiroth.

"Hojo is better than you. So much better. That's why you want to kill him, isn't it? Isn't it!"

Johns wrenched the saw off of the chrome table, scattering other objects to the floor carelessly. They settled loudly just as the lab assistant backed toward the unconscious Hojo, away from the angry Johns.

Sephiroth made no move to stop Johns, though he could have easily done so with either the needle or his sword. It was clear that Johns had breeched some sort of barrier between sanity and insanity; there was the distinct feel of recklessness about the man that was almost tangible. Like an animal, it was easy for Sephiroth to pick up on.

"Then so be it," Sephiroth stated, more to himself than Johns. His tone was so flat that the lab assistant's look of apprehension increased.

Sephiroth had no need to debate Johns on the issue; it was preferable that there be no loose ends to come back to haunt him later.

Johns turned on the small saw, the blade whirring loudly. It was on a metal handle that was about a foot long, with a battery pack stored at the base. Johns griped it tightly, his teeth barred, yellow eyes brightening with anger.

"You'll pay!" Johns spat.

He rushed toward Sephiroth, fearless of the needle suddenly.

Sephiroth withdrew Masamune, just as Johns swung toward him ferociously, the saw's pitch changing as it was wielded through the air. Blade hit saw with a clang and a sparking of metal as the revolving wheel tried in vain to dig through the hardened steel of Sephiroth's katana.

Sephiroth still had the needle in his right hand, using Masamune in his left. He had no plans of using the drug unless the need arose. In fact, the thought of killing Johns instead of knocking him out seemed so much more...satisfying. Anyone who willingly sided with Hojo should not be suffered to live.

Sephiroth deflected the saw, pushing it off toward the side so that Johns had to stumble to recover.

Letting out a cry of rage, Johns came back toward the General again, this time steadying and strengthening the blow by using the saw with both hands. The hit was loud, reverberating off of the walls, as Sephiroth managed to hold it off without much trouble. He was still weakened, but nothing like he had been earlier.

"Hojo should never have even helped you!" Johns asserted, just as Masamune's metal grinded against the saw momentarily.

Sephiroth again moved the blade toward the right, cutting off the contact. The blade was still perfect, utterly unscathed and gleaming, as he slashed out toward Johns. Johns didn't expect the hit of offense, not meeting the sword in time.

Metal slashed over flesh, leaving a gaping wound. The blood began to instantly blotch the thin white shirt Johns was wearing. Though it was not a mortal wound, it would bleed substantially.

Johns's teeth were clenched as he let out an angry breath, wildly moving the saw into the path of Sephiroth's face in response to the cut.

"You don't even deserve to live! You're nothing but a failed experiment!" Johns screamed, after yet another of his own attacks had been blocked.

Sephiroth never realized the implications of the statement until much later, long after the battle had more or less faded to the edge of his memory. When he heard it, he simply took it as part of the idiocy that was Johns, the insanity.

With another slash where saw met Masamune, the saw hesitated, stopping for a few turns, then nosily beginning to move again. Johns look turned infuriated, the emotion causing him to swing at the General even more madly.

As Sephiroth stopped the last attack, he launched one of his own, moving right over the saw--- avoiding it---the glint of shining death reaching out hopefully for Johns's reddened neck.

It was in that moment that the fight was over.

Metal easily penetrated soft skin, then veins, muscle and tendon. It sliced through the esophagus and upper spinal cord without slowing, making its way to the other side with the audible sound of blade moving through flesh.

In one smooth, elegant motion, Johns's head was separated from his body. His face had shown his confusion, the eyes still radiating their yellow illumination, as the head fell in an arch, dripping blacked blood.

The assistant shrieked as the head flew to the floor, rolling, not stopping for several feet due to the powerful force that had removed it.

The body fell to the linoleum floor, twitching and writhing under the bright lights of the lab room. The saw which was still held by the hands, landed directly onto the chest, round blade still revolving. It began to munch through the skin, then quickly delved into the sternum, the sound wet and disgusting.

The assistant could not take his eyes off of the sight. He was staring at the body in horror as a thick black sludge began to squirt and seep from the newly forged wound.

Sephiroth showed no reaction, walking a few steps closer, immaculate ebony boots straddling the heavily muscled corpse. He returned Masamune to his back, then bent down, snatching the saw from the blackened gunk and mess of internal structures that looked more alien than human. He found the switch and turned it off, looking at the dirty saw with a blank, vacant expression. His gloves were slick with the offending bodily fluid, as he moved away toward one of the medical tables.

He dropped the saw haphazardly onto the chrome surface with a bang, reaching for a clean blue rag that had fallen to the floor when Johns had unceremoniously grabbed for the saw. He cleaned each leather covered finger, his green eyes flitting to the lab assistant who was back up against the wall, wide eyed and terrified.

"You are going to be assisting Craven," Sephiroth stated calmly. "You are to do as I ask, is that understood?"

The assistant nodded zealously in response, body tense and shaking.

"Good."

* * *

Sephiroth offhandedly pushed the stray tresses of silver hair that had landed on the desk over his shoulder, his eyes on the document in front of him.

After reading as few more lines, his gaze wandered to the Galian Beast on the table.

Chaos. Chaos was forged from tainted Lifestream; the enitity was slightly different from what Craven had said. The reports seemed to be a matter of interpretation, however, as many were quite vague and difficult to piece together without the help of other documentation.

Sephiroth took notes, his left hand moving erratically across the page, leaving behind a small, narrow cursive script that was so neat it looked like it had been printed out of a machine.

It appeared that Chaos and Omega were WEAPONs that appeared when the world was to end. The Planet used them as a means to move on to somewhere else when death was nearly inevitable, Omega transporting the Lifestream to another part of the galaxy so it could begin again.

Chaos was, as Lucrecia Crecent, Grimoire's assistant put it, "Omega's squire to the lofty heavens". A power created to more or less guard over the Omega WEAPON as it fully liquidated the inhabitants of The Planet and then took the entire substance of life—the Lifestream—to some other place.

Theoretically, it seemed...possible. There were many gaps in the knowledge, that was certain, but from what had been left behind of Grimoire's notes, he had gathered that tainted Lifestream might be able to save Vincent. It would, inadvertently, be fused with Chaos, however.

There was little in the documents Craven had gathered that spoke of what exactly Chaos was physically, or how it would affect a human being. As for the tainted Lifestream, it was similar to mako, which in truth was simply an injected form of the Lifestream itself. It would, according to theory, revitalize Vincent, though it would be extraordinarily dangerous.

The chances of Vincent even surviving after the injection were quite unlikely. From what the two scientists had written, it was extremely toxic, far more so than mako was in large amounts. There were no reports on testing or anything of that nature, which was telling.

Hojo had obviously disposed of much of the work, which left Sephiroth with several questions. It seemed like testing had taken place at one time or another, given some of the information provided in the documents. Unfortunately Sephiroth had no idea as to whether or not anything had ever been tried on a human test subject.

Sephiroth was not Hojo; he would not mindlessly accept the fact that whatever was done to Vincent could just as well kill him as save him. There were so many incalculable risks....

Sephiroth openly sighed, leaning closer to the desk, his hand on his forehead.

Vincent was in a death-like state, or rather, the Galian Beast was. Could it survive the treatment? It was obviously much more physically robust that the boy was.... And what exactly would happen to the form if it was also infused with Chaos? What would Chaos be? Would there be any Vincent left at all?

Sephiroth had already gone over as many options as the assistants could think of. Neither could come up with anything that rivaled the idea of using Chaos. The beast was more or less dead. There were no magical drugs that could save it, as it was already pumped full of enough mako to kill a human being outright. In fact, the creature nearly had the same amounts running through its veins as Sephiroth himself did. It was frightening to think about what kind of consequences all of it might have on Vincent, could he even be salvaged from the mess.

Hojo had declared Vincent a failure. That was one aspect of everything Sephiroth could not avoid.

Sephiroth had already considered using Hojo to keep the Galian Beast alive, but decided against it. He was through with Hojo. The man had no scruples, no redeeming qualities whatsoever, and he could not be trusted even when his life was the exchange for accomplishing something. No, Sephiroth would have to stick with Craven and the other assistant. Hojo did not even seem to believe that Vincent could be saved from what had been done to him. If Hojo was incapable....

The scientist was locked in one of the most heavily secured rooms, and Sephiroth had even convinced Craven to wire one of the security cameras into it. On the screen in the corner of the lab, the feed was constantly transmitted, allowing Sephiroth to keep tabs on the scientist. He also watched both of the assistants, not allowing them to wander and possibly help Hojo. It was unlikely, given how obedient they were being, but nonetheless, Sephiroth felt much more comfortable knowing exactly where they were at all times.

As for what he would do with Hojo...he had yet to decide. Death seemed the most appealing option. He could cut Hojo's life from him like ailing pet, inject him and let him die pathetically and unmourned. Without ceremony. Sephiroth had long waited to end the man's life, but he was willing to wait a little longer. Truthfully, if he could somehow save Vincent, he would let the boy decide the scientist's fate. It was only fair. Creation always had first right to kill creator.

Sephiroth was concerned that the Galian Beast did not have much longer to live. If it died, Vincent went with it. He knew as well, that the longer he took to come to a decision, the more the risk increased. The creature could only grow weaker. There was nothing else it could be given to keep it living or strong.

After all he had read, he felt he was back to the original choice: would the outcome be worth it? He wanted to keep his promise, but at the same time he did not want to leave Vincent so horribly experimented upon that he had no future. He felt incredibly uncertain, though he knew, somewhere, that there was no other choice.

Chaos. The entity that would help bring about world's end could be the one thing to bring life into something that was dying.

How terribly ironic.


	17. Chaos Unleashed

**A/N:** I had so much fun writing this chapter; it's a bit of a longer one. I'm sorry the last chapter was shorter and cut you off at the good part, I tried to make up for it with this one (the scene at the end, most specifically...).

Thanks to my awesome reviewers! :D That would be: **Kyuubi-ismy-homie**, **LAZy Cora**, **whatevergirl**, **KT**, **kiralover44**, **Gismo1**, **minoki**, and **NicotineGum**! As for Grimoire, KT, yes, he is dead. I haven't talked about it yet, but I likely will in the next chapter or the one after that. It's kind of sad. But yeah. That's all I'm going to say.

* * *

Craven held the large vial in his hands, his blue-white eyes staring into the swirling substance within. It was reddish, though throughout it were wisps of black. The two colors seemed to flow together, almost one, but not quite.

"Are you sure that is it?" Sephiroth questioned, not able to see Craven's face, as the man was turned away from him.

"Yes..." Craven said slowly. "I've seen it once before."

Though Sephiroth did not want to trust Craven, he did not have many other options. The vial had been in the location it was supposed to be.

He had not even believed he would be able to find a sample of the tainted Lifestream in the lab; Hojo did not seem to care much for it, likely because what was known about it had been due to Grimoire's research and not his own. It was typical Hojo: secretive, jealous, and ruthless. He would not let someone else's work foreshadow his own, even if that meant virtually destroying it.

The substance had been locked in a vault deep in the building, in a part of the lab that Sephiroth had never seen before. He had used Hojo's personal computer to find out the locations of the more...rare chemicals in his collection. It had taken a few hours just to get into the logs for the stocked drugs; he had to use some of Hojo's own software to get the job done. Sephiroth had been very surprised to find that a sample of tainted Lifestream had in fact been kept.

Though the documents had not specified where the tainted Lifestream had been collected, Sephiroth suspected that it would be someplace deeper within the earth, just like mako. Wherever it had been gathered from, Hojo had obviously not wanted anyone to know about it; he had destroyed nearly everything but the theory alone. There was nothing much about the actual substance itself, perhaps to keep other people from digging.

The vault was empty otherwise, save for that one vial. Craven handed it to Sephiroth, biting his lip.

"Look, I can't promise anything. For all I know that thing could just die outright," Craven confessed.

"I'm aware of that," Sephiroth answered, his green eyes distant.

He didn't believe he would ever be comfortable with what he was about to put the boy through. But there was no other choice, no other way.... Vincent was dead otherwise.

* * *

As the needle delved into the small patch of newly shaved flesh, Sephiroth unconsciously began to breathe more heavily.

Slowly, Craven allowed the poisonous substance to push its way through the wide veins of the Galian Beast, its strange redness draining from the glass vial.

They knew nothing of the dosage to give, that was something else that troubled Sephiroth. Too much could just kill the creature, too little might do nothing. And that was forgetting that even the smallest amount could possibly kill the beast within minutes should it have a violent reaction to the chemical.

The other assistant, Renault, as Sephiroth had learned, was standing on the other side of Craven, his look grim.

"It could take minutes for him to have a reaction, or it could take hours," Craven said. "But given that its properties are much like mako, I'm guessing we'll know within a few minutes."

The white-haired Craven glanced up to the large clock on the wall.

Sephiroth waited, focusing on the sounds of the beeps he had already grown familiar with and the rhythmic sound of the respirator as it filled the beast's lungs.

He hadn't thought of Angeal or Zack, or even Genesis. No one knew where he was, what he was doing that very moment.... And for some reason it didn't matter. Nothing mattered but trying to repair the damage he had inadvertently made by bringing the boy into the sanctum of Hojo, the madness of a man who cared for nothing but his own selfishness and goals.

The beast began to crash. Its heart suddenly began pumping noticeably through its chest, increasing in rate, seeming to bubble beneath the skin. It was like someone had pressed the panic button, as suddenly there was brain activity again, beyond the dull nothingness of a vegetative state. Everything was ringing nosily as that chest moved erratically, trying to live again.

"Fuck..." Craven breathed under his breath. He knew if the creature died, he would likely follow. Sephiroth would not allow him to live.

They could only watch as the smooth waves became spikes on the monitor. Craven hurriedly removed the mask from the beast's jaw, pulling out the long tube that had been placed down the trachea. Slime dripped off of it wetly as Craven threw it onto a nearby table noisily.

Something was happening....

The heart rate progressed until it seemed something would burst from the grey furred chest. But instead the veins became stark under the skin, pumping the tainted Lifestream through the creature's battered body at an alarming rate.

There was a sound similar to whimpering coming from the creature, as drool began to slide down from the corners of its jaw and down to the silver mane. Then it started to shake all over, convulsing much like a seizure.

The whole table actually moved on its wheels, as the Galian Beast pushed upward against its bonds, eyes still closed, seemingly unconscious.

Sephiroth moved forward quickly, grabbing onto the edge to keep it somewhat steady as the monster continued to buck.

What came next made both of the assistants jump back, Craven scurrying to a corner.

Blinding light. It was so assaulting that Sephiroth's pupils turned to mere lines. Instead of being bright white light, it was the same reddish hue as the tainted Lifestream had been. It exploded with small waves of black, so overwhelmingly powerful that the occupants of the room were left completely void of vision for several seconds.

One of Sephiroth's gloved hands went to his face, partially shielding his eyes as he stepped away from the table, unable or unwilling to look away.

Just as abruptly as the flash had begun, it was as though the brightness had been sucked back into the body on the table, leaving behind a small reddish cloud that lasted only for a few seconds before fading away completely, leaving behind....

"What the fuck is that?" Craven said from his corner, voice cracking in fear.

"Don't move," Sephiroth ordered Craven, turning his head back for the briefest instant to ensure that Craven thought better of running off in cowardice. Renault had fled to where Craven was, but did not move either, though he was visibly distraught, likely even more so than Craven.

Sephiroth focused his full attention on the thing that was before him. His face seemed to heat with both anger at himself and confusion at what had occured.

It _looked_ like Vincent.

A wing flapped from underneath the torso, scratching along the table until it fell over the edge. It visibly twitched, causing Craven and the other assistant to gasp. Sephiroth moved a step forward to get a closer look, though it went against his better instincts.

The wing was comparable to that of a bat, with the typical 'thumb' on the upper part of the wing and one lower 'digit' which passed between the membrane. The other digits were malformed, coming together at the bottom ends probably to stabilize the wing. The thin blood red membrane was torn in places, looking almost shredded along the edges. The structure of the digits was black, in sharp contrast to the red.

Then there was the body, which looked to be covered in a hard protective material. Parts appeared to be made of a golden metal, covering the knees with pointed tips, and over the feet with tapered, acute ends. The creature was slender like Vincent was, though it was more physically mature in the sense that it was less boyish in figure, with a slightly larger chest.

But it was the face that Sephiroth could not stop looking at. It was clearly Vincent's face, the same lines, the same angles.... A black lock of hair trailed just over its eyes, stark against the greyed skin, which was almost corpse like, though still distinctly Vincent. The head was crowned with hard two-toned red and black spikes, likely composed of the same material as the armor-like shell that covered over its body.

"Does this...does he resemble any of the other creatures you were aiming for?" Sephiroth questioned Craven, not turning from the experiment before him.

The thing that was somehow both Vincent and monster. The thought made Sephiroth's jaw clench.

Sephiroth had read the reports on the so-called 'metamorphosis'. This creature did not appear to be anything like those that he had read about. It was...different. Much more human than what Hojo had predicted for the other forms. The only conclusion he could reach was that it was not in fact the Death Gigas or Hell Masker, but...Chaos.

Had they failed?

"No, I don't think that is any of the other forms..." Craven said shakily, still not venturing any closer.

The wing flapped suddenly, lifting off of the ground and stretching outward as it unfolded. It curled for a moment, just as the small, narrow chest expanded and took in its first deep breath.

Sephiroth could hear the two assistants behind him tense, just as he moved slightly closer. His back was blocking their line of vision, keeping the creature's face from them, just as the eyelids shot open.

Sephiroth stiffened, staring at the yellow, preternatural eyes.

"Vincent?" he said quietly, though he had more than instinct to go on that the creature in front of him was not the boy, but something else entirely.

He could sense it. As soon as the eyes opened he knew. They were not maroon, but a predatory yellow, much like the bright burning flame behind the eyes of a jack-o-lantern. It was disconcerting to see something almost...evil...that so closely resembled Vincent.

The crowned head turned unnaturally slow, almost theatrically, the strange eyes landing on Sephiroth.

Sephiroth did not move away, but looked into them. It was not Vincent, whatever it was, it wasn't Vincent. Every nerve ending was alight with warnings, telling him to back away.

It was malevolent.

His hand traveled instinctively to Masamune, causing Chaos to let out a low sound, almost a growl. The movement of his lips exposed the white teeth, which had large canines, much like a carnivore.

The smell of burning material caught the General's attention, as he saw the bands that restrained Chaos begin to singe, shrinking away from the metal threads beneath and sending up snaking tendrils of smoke.

In a flurry of wings, Chaos was almost instantaneously freed of its bonds. They snapped with an ease that even Sephiroth could not pull off, leaving behind burnt material and curled steel wires.

Chaos's head tilted to the side as it lazily held itself above the medical table, the powerful gusts caused by its wings sending equipment rolling across the counters. It was flying. The ceiling was low, but there was enough room for it to reasonably move around unhindered.

Sephiroth removed Masamune, holding the blade to his side. He didn't want to hurt it; it was obvious that Vincent was inside of the thing, somewhere, deep down, if it still looked somewhat like him. Or at least, that was Sephiroth's hypothesis. He did not fully know what he planned to do.

The two assistants noisily fled the room, sending tools crashing from one of the counters in their rush.

Sephiroth's eyes narrowed at their departure; Chaos didn't seem to care.

It came hurtling toward Sephiroth, left clawed hand extended. Instead of striking the creature, Sephiroth raised his sword to fend of the claws, as the impact of Chaos's body sent both of them tumbling to the floor in a tangle of leather and wings.

Chaos's eyes were inches from his as the clawed hand went for any unguarded flesh. It did not see the ball of energy that was building in one of Sephiroth's hands, between their chests. With an explosive power, the orb hit both of them with full impact, sending Chaos off of Sephiroth and into the wall with a crash. Sephiroth was slammed into the linoleum he had landed on, nearly getting the wind knocked out of him.

Chaos seemed unfazed by the magic, rising from the ground easily as Sephiroth tried to get to his own feet.

Chaos spread its wings, flapping them easily, hovering about six inches from the ground. It looked at Sephiroth with a marked disinterest, seeing him as nothing but prey, while inside a part of it was screaming for it to stop, that the silver-haired man meant no harm....

It charged when Sephiroth made no move to attack, sending wayward red beams blasting toward the General, who was only barely able to deflect them. The beams were reflected, sent to random places around the lab, destroying equipment and sending papers fluttering all around, some catching fire and smoking. Tables were overturned and sent scraping across the floor with metallic groans. As Sephiroth had intended, none of the magic struck Chaos.

Chaos continued to hover, waiting for Sephiroth to attack. When he again refrained from offense, the creature began to materialize something within its hands. The weapon finally appeared with a small explosion of that black, swirling mist.

A gun. A huge gun. It was black with shining silver snaking over it decoratively, with three barrels that formed a triangular shape at the end. It fit perfectly over Chaos's right hand.

Without warning three shots fired in sync, Chaos giving Sephiroth a wicked fanged smile.

Sephiroth had already built up a barrier before the shots had even been fired, but only just stopped the speeding projectiles. It was obvious that they were not regular bullets, as they did not explode, but sizzled as they hit the magical shield, sending black waves rippling over the blue surface, tainting it.

Chaos gave Sephiroth no rest, instantly firing six rounds in succession, three shots coming from the barrel each time.

With another barrier, Sephiroth managed to keep from being hit, however, it took a lot of energy to create the shield, and whatever Hojo had been giving him only hours ago, had still kept him from fully recuperating. His magic was severely depleted, and the second shield had been noticeably weaker than the last, faltering from the power of the magic Chaos had sent at it.

* * *

The assistant, Daniel Renault, was rushing through the halls as fast as he was able.

Craven may have refrained from providing Sephiroth with the vital information---not giving him the documents mentioning the materia---but he would not. This was his chance to live, and he knew it.

He had never liked Craven anyway; Hojo had picked him as a favorite, and as a result, Renault had been given the most menial of tasks, often trapped in one of the darker rooms measuring and labeling chemicals, then stocking them in the freezers and cabinets according to Hojo's specifications. It was not the work of a scientist, but the work of someone much, much lesser. Renault had found it insulting, but had not way or means to let it be known to Hojo. Hojo wasn't exactly the most forgiving or caring type.

Renault opened the room using Hojo's card key, hating how all the shadows seemed to jump out at him, holding secrets within their depths. He hated the dark, always had. He didn't much like blood either, which hadn't made him first on the list of people to be hired as an assistant in an environment where blood was simply another part of the job.

He was not keen on dying when he was 26 years old, having spent over three of those years in Hojo's labs being nothing but a servant with a useless Master's degree. He'd even gone to school early! Yet here he was, working in Hojo's lab like a lackey when he had enough experience to _run_ his own lab.

Granted, he wasn't the domineering type like Hojo, or the psychotic and twisted Craven; he was just a lab assistant. But nonetheless, he was completely against all of his work going to waste—namely, his life. Sephiroth would surely kill them all if that creature didn't somehow turn back into the boy.

Materia could occur naturally, though it was rare. Renault had never learned where Hojo had gotten the particular piece from, but supposedly the Protomateria was one of a kind, likely forged by the Lifestream itself.

It was priceless. In the wrong hands...there was no telling what damage could be caused by it. That was if it was as theory said: a materia to control the WEAPONs.

He knew Craven had kept it from Sephiroth because he planned to do something with it, especially now that Hojo wasn't there to guard over it constantly. Craven was probably hoping to sell it off to one of Shinra's competitors.

Renault was standing in front of the case, running the card key again and quickly typing in a code. His eyes distractedly stared at the sphere.

The orb was clear, but inside rings of purple revolved around one another, bright, iridescent.

The glass case slid open soundlessly. The Protomateria glinted in the blackness, positively glowing and radiating esoteric energy. Even looking upon it was strange. It seemed almost..._alive_.

Using the tail of his lab coat, the assistant removed the glass-like structure from its tall holder, examining it briefly.

He had to hurry before Sephiroth was forced to kill the creature in self-defense.

* * *

Shot after shot was fired off, the loud boom resonating off of the walls.

Sephiroth threw another force field up, though it was so weak that the bullets penetrated it after a moment. Sephiroth had just enough time to move out of the way, as Chaos sent red beams thundering down on him from around the room.

He was hit by several of them, as his defense finally withered and faded from the power behind Chaos's attack.

Sephiroth did not have time to acknowledge the pain, but instead went straight for Chaos, in attempt to distract the creature from continuing to use magic attacks. He didn't want to injure it, but he was no longer able to deflect the magic; the sword was the only viable option.

Chaos lifted its gun, using the hardened metal to block Masamune. It wielded the weapon much like Angeal did the Buster Sword; using its wide girth as an asset while blocking. Chaos couldn't attack with the gun as Sephiroth could with Masamune, instead compensating with its left, clawed hand, the five sharp fingers swiping dangerously and relentlessly at Sephiroth as the gun was used as a shield.

Sephiroth could hear someone pounding down the hallway, coming toward the room, but he could not even think much about it as Chaos moved with frightening speed and accuracy.

Sephiroth pushed the talons away with a swift slash of his sword, causing those yellow eyes to become more intense in brightness. With an animalistic growl, Chaos let loose a string of attacks, keeping Masamune at bay with the huge gun, and sending off a few reddish magic spheres.

Sephiroth didn't have enough magic reserves to use Masamune as a means to cut through them, and wound up being hit by all three of the small, softball-sized pieces of energy. He staggered backward, barely able to keep on his feet from the impact, as Chaos hovered forward, pursuing him without rest.

"Sephiroth!" Renault was standing in the doorway, the Protomateria in his hand.

Renault was hesitant to go anywhere near Chaos; the creature was dangerous and hostile to an extreme. It was like a form of the devil himself, winged and crowned, demonic. Nothing about it looked benevolent. It was a monster.

"Use this!" Renault yelled.

Sephiroth turned, bringing his attacks to the side and forcing Chaos to move with him. He could see the assistant from the corner of his eye. The assistant was holding something, and it was glowing.

"You have to get this into its body!" Renault shouted, holding the materia out.

Sephiroth's green eyes darted to the assistant, but he could not move much, as Chaos bore down on him attack after attack, those bat-like wings moving elegantly as one leg lashed out at him, nearly hitting him in the chest.

Renault decided against throwing the materia; he wasn't sure how durable it was, so he leaned down, rolling it across the linoleum toward Sephiroth. Unfortunately he was not half as good at anything physical as he was at being a scientist; the Protomateria finally came to a halt quite a distance from where Sephiroth was.

Sephiroth let out an angry snarl, not sure if he could trust the assistant. He didn't even know what it was, until he turned his head slightly. He could see its glinting purple rings even from the distance he was at. Materia. Surprisingly enough he had never seen anything that resembled it before. Purple rings? Sephiroth had seen his share of materia, and it was almost always solid in color.

The materia could kill Chaos. Sephiroth had no idea what it would do, and he had to remember that _Hojo's_ lab assistant gave it to him.

"What does it do?" Sephiroth asked loudly, avoiding the feral swipe of claws.

Sephiroth stole a glance toward the door and realized that the assistant was gone. Sephiroth let out an angry breath. What choice did he have? He would end up having to kill Chaos. He wasn't even sure sedating it would have any effect; nothing seemed to faze it, particularly magic. What could drugs possibly do? As for the materia...it might not even do anything.

Sephiroth outstretched a hand as he blocked Chaos with the other, knowing he might not have enough magic to draw the orb to him. But it rolled, he could hear it, just as he avoided another slash of the claws.

As it got within a few feet, the sphere flew to his hand. Sephiroth gripped it firmly. Certain materias could be absorbed, he knew. That must have been what the assistant meant.

As Chaos swooped downward, Sephiroth moved in, offensively striking Masamune against the gun Chaos held. He then spun to the side, Chaos only a split second behind. He stepped as close to the monster as he dared, then sent his hand, palm forward, hurtling into the beast's chest. His hand pressed against the shell of Chaos's body for a brief instant, as he managed to thwart the beast's attacks by exploiting the length of Masamune.

He had to let go quickly, but as he moved away, fending off another particularly vicious strike, he could see that the materia had in fact been left behind, buried halfway into the hard carapace of Chaos's body.

As they continued to fight for mere seconds, the Protomateria completely merged.

Chaos stopped attacking. The glowing was blue, incredibly bright and causing the creature to stare down in confusion. It opened its mouth, fanged teeth revealed, as the glowing blue grew more and more, spreading. With an explosive energy, the blue flashed, much as the red had when they had injected the Galian Beast with the tainted Lifestream.

It was only moments before the blue reached a startling peak, then died down, fading. The blue light completely evaporated, as a mist would.

Chaos upon all appearances, still remained. But instantly, Sephiroth knew there was something different...the stance had changed. The eyes were not glowing maliciously as they had been. The shoulders slumped in an uncharacteristic manner. Sephiroth's enhanced senses could not pick up any of the previous warnings that had caused him to reach for Masamune.

The glowing orb of materia seemed to be imbedded in its chest, sending out a vague blue glow.

"S-Sephiroth?" it asked, the voice sounding as though it echoed. It was deep, almost raspy, though it was distinctly Vincent's voice.

"Vincent..." Sephiroth said, stepping forward, the sword held limply at his side, though he did not discard it. Suspicion was natural to him.

The creature lifted a hand, slowly, fearfully, his yellow eyes widening. He examined it, turning it to see the clawed fingers. He was still holding the huge, oversized gun in his right hand, though that was the least of his worries.

"What...what is happening to me?" Vincent asked, his voice sounding small, childlike. "What am I? I could see you...I told it to stop. Was I doing all of that?" Vincent questioned, not able to take his gaze off of his strange new hands.

Vincent crumpled without warning, falling to his knees, overtaken by tiredness, exhaustion. The gun clattered to the floor, forgotten. Vincent was breathing heavily.

Sephiroth moved over to the boy quickly. He returned Masamune to his back as he knelt down beside the body of Chaos, his trenchcoat pooling on the floor.

Vincent was still physically Chaos, but he was there, alive. Sephiroth was both pleased and sickened.

What had he done?

"I..." Vincent was looking at his hands again, then up to Sephiroth's concerned green eyes.

He never thought the General would ever look at him in that way. Had he been in any other situation, he would have blushed, but there was not time for awkwardness as question after question came to the forefront of his mind.

"What...?"

"It's alright, it will be okay," Sephiroth said in what he hoped was a reassuring tone, his hand resting on Chaos's—no—Vincent's shoulder.

Vincent looked down at his body suddenly, the yellow glowing eyes widening even further. "Something is happening."

He was right.

There was an explosion of red fused with black, a strobe that caused Sephiroth to cover over his eyes with a gloved hand. He was so close that the brightness was incredibly worse than it had been the previous two times. He was forced to turn his face away.

Almost like an implosion, the red radiated outward, streaks of black throughout it.

As it died away abruptly, all that was left was the thin, frail body of Vincent, which had already dropped to the floor almost lifelessly.

Sephiroth was finally able to see, his green eyes traveling to the helpless figure that was strewn on the floor. He moved forward, using his hands to balance as he looked down at the boy's face. Unable to resist the instinct that overwhelmed him, he reached for Vincent.

Vincent was completely naked, his skin pale, sickly in appearance. The General ignored the nakedness, as he lifted the small body up from the cold linoleum with an easy grace.

Sephiroth could feel his own heartbeat increase. He couldn't be dead. He had to be alive. Not after so much effort to keep him breathing....

"Vincent."

No response. But something calmed inside of Sephiroth when he realized that the small chest was moving. Somehow, Vincent was still alive.

"Vincent," more strongly this time.

Maroon eyes fluttered open behind the veil of black, chin-length bangs. Sephiroth brushed them out of the way hurriedly, gloved hand bracing the boy's neck, while the other moved to grip him about his too-small waist, trying to keep him from touching the chilled floor. The boy was so impossibly light that it was disconcerting.

"Am...am I me again?" Vincent asked, trying to raise a hand to his face, but failing.

Vincent looked down at his body instead, too tired to even think about the fact that he was completely naked in the arms of the man he idolized. He was so tired he could barely keep his eyes trained on the enigmatic green that was staring down at him. They were swirling with a mix of different emotions that Vincent was too sleepy to be able to read properly, though there was a distinct worry that overshadowed everything else.

It was then that Sephiroth saw the jagged line of angry red scars that traced over the boy's entire left arm and over each fingertip. He repressed the anger that instantly flared somewhere in his chest. He would deal with it later, he would think about it later. For now, Vincent was alive. He held the small body a little tighter.

Sephiroth wasn't quite certain how to answer the boy's question. There was no telling what would happen with so many volatile energies inside of him. Sephiroth wasn't even certain if the boy would be healthy enough to live.

Sephiroth decided to go against his own code of ethics: he lied. "Yes."

Vincent released an audible sigh of relief, relaxing into the leather that seemed to be everywhere. He had a brief flitting thought of wanting tha man's warm skin instead of leather, but the thought died away as he let his eyes close finally.

Sephiroth rose up from the floor slowly, moving an arm underneath the boy's knees. Vincent only moved slightly, his face burying in the ebony leather of Sephiroth's coat.

He had kept his promise.

* * *

**A/N:** If I wasn't such a fan of the blue-ball dance, Sephiroth would have just done Vincent right there...haha... :D Yes, you're author is crazy. It's okay, I'm at least saner than post-insanity Sephiroth....


	18. Monsters

**A/N:** It's 4:00 in the morning, so don't expect any sanity from me. XD My reviewers are awesome! I'm posting right now because of my adoration of all of you for taking the time to read through my craziness! Thanks to: **NicotineGum**, **Kyuubi-ismy-homie**, **minoki**, **KT**, **Valitiel**, **kiralover44**, **me**, **Tiny Koala**, **whatevergirl**, **Gismo1**, **Risikaa**, **Anonymous**, **CaseyAnn'sPrecious**, **tokidokilove**, and **OvenBased**! :D

CaseyAnn'sPrecious asked about the voices...I haven't decided yet. I think I'm going to watch over some DoC cutscenes and get a feel for it, take it from there. Thank you for reminding me; I probably would have forgot about it entirely otherwise. I haven't played DoC since it came out, unfortunately. If anybody else has questions, as always, feel free to ask. I will try to give an answer.

* * *

Sephiroth was walking swiftly down the hall toward one of the security rooms, Renault on his heels.

Renault was much quieter than Craven, but at the same time much more unsure and nervous. Bravery didn't seem to be a quality that was sought out in scientists; if anything, it seemed to be apathy and selfishness that were most desirable for such a job.

Craven had disappeared during the fighting. Unlike Renault, he had not returned.

Vincent was safely locked in Sephiroth's small quarters, three floors below ground level. Besides Hojo, Sephiroth was the only person who had clearance for the room. He had left Vincent sleeping, then found Renault milling around in the corridor next to the more or less destroyed lab room where he had been forced to fight Chaos.

Renault had not known where Craven was. After checking in on Hojo, Sephiroth decided to go to the main hub that housed the surveillance controls for the building. Though much of the place did not have cameras (particularly the labs themselves, due to Hojo's paranoia), the exits to the building as well as some of the inner halls did. It would be quicker to check the feed than to go through the immense building searching every single room. Though, Sephiroth reasoned, he may have to do that anyway.

Renault opened the door with his card key, then walked in behind Sephiroth. The room was darkened, only lit by the ethereal glow and hum of several monitors playing live feed. Sephiroth's silhouette was all that could be seen in the low light, tall and foreboding as it moved in front of the flickering screens. Renault did not venture from his place near the door, instead waiting as Sephiroth looked over each monitor pointedly.

The quarters were cramped; the televisions took up all of the wall space, while a myriad of machines, which looked to control various functions of the building, took up the surface of the long desk directly beneath.

It was one of the cameras in the lower right corner that caused the slit pupils to narrow.

"Where exactly is this?" Sephiroth asked, gesturing to the monitor with a gloved hand.

Renault moved forward, trying in vain to stay a good five feet from the General, but not being able to do so because of a nearby chair.

"I'm not sure. Check the chart, I think," the assistant replied, reaching out for a clipboard. "They do it by numbers, if I remember right."

"L2," Sephiroth read from the corner of the screen.

There was a shuffling of papers, "Let me see here.... Looks like...well...he's in the corridor that leads to the genetics wing. That's odd." Renault looked to the monitor, forgetting his fear of Sephiroth for a moment as he moved in to see better. "We only use that part of the lab to work on the more...trying test subjects," Renault finished.

What would Craven be doing in genetics?

Sephiroth only looked at Renault, the light of the screens making his face appear ghostly white, his green eyes predatory. He didn't have to ask for the assistant to elaborate.

"Basically," Renault said, faltering somewhat, "It's where we tend to keep the subjects that were...lab created. And of course it is where most of our genetic research takes place."

"You mean monsters," Sephiroth provided, already moving past Renault.

"Well, I think that depends on your point of view," Renault added, already hurrying after Sephiroth.

* * *

Vincent awoke in an unfamiliar bed. The sheets were scratchy and uncomfortable on his naked body, but nonetheless they had kept him warm in the chilled, tiny room.

The first thing he noticed was that he was weak. Every part of him was stiff and abused, as though he had spent days and days training until breaking point. His left arm was virtually immovable, and even turning his head felt like torture. But he also noticed his leg; he could move it, it wasn't in that horrible cast. When had he gotten it removed?

He was in a lot of pain, and his limbs were very stiff, but besides his left arm, he seemed to be alright, surprisingly enough. How long had it been? More importantly...how had he managed to live?

Vincent let out a shaky breath, then moved, with a hiss of pain, onto his side. The position was more than uncomfortable, but he did it to test himself as well as to get a better look at where he was.

He could remember bits and pieces of what happened, but he tried to ignore the flashing images, the burning questions. Something had happened to him, something horrible, he had turned into a monster, he was certain of it.... Why? And what did Sephiroth have to do with it? The man had been trying to help him, to stop him, while he was that thing.... But how had he become it? Where was Hojo? Where was Sephiroth?

Vincent frowned, halting the thoughts, trying to push them aside. He couldn't think about it; he needed to talk to Sephiroth, find out what the hell was going on. Could it have all be a dream, a delusion? He was awake, he was sure of it. But could he have imagined it in his sleep?

No. It was too real,_ too_ vivid. He had _felt_ what that thing felt, he had _been_ it. He was certain it was real, even if it made little sense.... He wasn't sure it was possible to dream up so much horror, especially something so intense. And how could he have known what it was like to wield claws instead of hands, to fly, to growl, to stalk? No fantasy or rather, nightmare, could be that detailed, that _realistic_. That wasn't possible as far as he knew.

The room was not decorated. The walls were white and bland, the desk and chair mismatched and obviously old. But somehow the sheets smelled familiar, and were somehow comforting. The lights were dimmed, which had made it easy to sleep, though he was sure it hadn't been too long. It didn't feel that way at least.

With a groan and that more stubborn part of his personality, he managed to throw his legs off of the bed. Using mostly his right arm to brace him, he winced and ground his teeth as he staggered onto his feet. He caught onto the desk with his hand, stabilizing himself. He was breathing heavy from the small exertion, his narrow chest moving rabidly. He tried not to think about how ridiculous he would look, completely naked, practically tripping over his feet.

It was then that he looked down at his left arm for the first time. He swallowed nervously, in disbelief. Scars, long and trailing, from his shoulder all the way down over each fingertip. The mark was bumpy, new. What had happened? Vincent stared down at it, his gut clenching somewhat in a childish panic that he wanted to shed. He tried to focus back on what he was doing, not thinking about everything, all the questions. The scars, the monsters....

When he finally looked down at the chair, he realized there were clothes stacked there. He grabbed at the top piece, unfolding it. It was a white shirt and a pair of matching white pants. It looked like hospital garb, but he didn't much mind; he was thankful that someone had thought to give him clothes.

Sephiroth...Sephiroth had picked him up off of the floor....

Vincent shook his head. The last thing he needed was to think about Sephiroth. There were too many questions. He still had no idea what was going on, or what part the General played in all of it.

Vincent slowly managed to get the clothes on. The shirt was about three sizes to big, as were the pants, which he had to tighten to him with the drawstring, but at least he was covered.

He made his way to the door, which wasn't very far. When he grabbed at the handle, it wouldn't budge. He pulled on it more harshly (or as harsh as he could be in such as state), but still it would not open.

Vincent sighed. He had no card key, nothing to open it with. He was not supposed to leave, apparently. That didn't stop him from trying a little more vigorously.

* * *

The corridor was narrow, colder, more sterile feeling that even the environments Sephiroth had become accustomed to after years spent in a laboratory setting. The lights were glaringly bright in the hall, but each of the rooms they passed was dark except for the occasional flicker of a computer screen or a vat of mako that sent pinpoints of light across the walls.

Sephiroth stopped at one of the rooms that had a door, this one dull, scratched steel with a large lock.

"Are you sure this is the one you saw him go into?" Renault said rather loudly, causing those green eyes to glance at him in warning.

Sephiroth said nothing, simply gesturing for Renault to open the door. Renault shakily did as Sephiroth wanted, his hand already beginning to quake out of nervousness as he quickly inserted and withdrew the card key.

Sephiroth had Hojo's card key, but he had not been using it much. Many of the doors had codes as well as slots for the card keys, but did not always require both. It was easier to allow Renault to do it.

Renault did not like this room. He did not like it at all.

The door slid to the side. Sephiroth slowly moved through the doorway, eyes adjusting to the darkness. His coat lightly drifted about his boots, as he examined the black.

There were several mako tanks lining the wall, some filled with specimens that Sephiroth did not wish to look at.

"Craven." It was said tonelessly, but loud enough that it could be heard throughout the nearly silent room.

There was no answer as Sephiroth took another step forward. "Don't," Sephiroth ordered, hearing Renault's hand as it fiddled with switches. It would be much easier without the lights; it would put Craven out of his element, whatever he was doing.

He walked near the tanks, hearing the faint bubbling, the green hue washing over his body as he moved passed.

The bodies in the tank were clearly of failures. Some were so malformed that Sephiroth was not entirely certain that they had ever been intended to be human. Extra limbs, strange eyeless faces, limp hair floating in the mako solution....

He noticed Renault was still back in the doorway where there was light, but paid the assistant no heed.

Sephiroth could pick out the breathing as he focused. It was coming from one of the darker corners. As his eyes traveled there, he could make out the figure of Craven, who was sitting on the floor bent over his knees somewhat, white hair obscuring his face completely.

"I was wondering when you would come looking for me," Craven said, sounding disappointed. "Let me guess, the beast died?"

Craven was playing his cards, hoping that Renault hadn't told Sephiroth about his plans for taking the Protomateria. Craven could play stupid, if need be. He already knew they had used the Protomateria; it was missing from its case when he had finally convinced himself to steal it and make a run for it. It was an idiotic plan, to be sure, but it was better than getting his head lopped off by Masamune. Besides, if he'd given the Protomateria up to Sephiroth in the first place, he wasn't even sure it would work. Why not just sell it with the pretense of what it could do?

Truth be told, he didn't much believe in Grimoire or Lucrecia's theories; he had never seen any of the actual test findings. He had always been a doubting Thomas. He had secretly been hoping that nothing all too dramatic would happen with the tainted Lifestream, that it would simply be like an alternate form of mako...naturally that moron Grimoire just _had_ to be right. Craven rolled his eyes underneath his hair.

Originally he had intended to not only make of with the Protomateria, but several other rare materias and even some of Hojo's more prized chemical inventions. Then he'd nearly gotten his head blown off by the fucking automated machine gun just outside the entrance. The thing had started firing even before he stepped out onto the concrete staircase.... Sephiroth had done something to it, reprogrammed it.... He couldn't even get out of the damn building. It would take hours to reprogram the system without Hojo's card key.

He had been doubtful that the beast would live; it was a shot in the dark. He had been somewhat grateful that things had gone as they had, as it had given him the proper opportunity to try and get away from Sephiroth. He knew he should have stayed, but once he saw Chaos, it seemed to confirm that the specimen was a failure.

Sephiroth, he figured, was going to kill him anyway, doubly so because of the failure, and still, even if he had told him about the Protomateria and by some fucking miracle it had worked. So why not make off with the best that he could find? He had been shoving random DNA tubes into a duffel, hoping to finish in time to get to one of the teleportation machines that Hojo had been testing on one of the other floors. They still had their kinks, but Craven was willing to be a test subject if it meant he escaped with his life and some of the equipment.

It was his greed that had gotten him caught. He had slunk into the corner immediately after hearing them unlock the door. He hoped he would be able to pull of 'victim' instead of 'perpetrator', but he knew that his chances were slim. He would have to work hard for his life if he wished to keep it.

Renault had begun to make his way past the doorway, going slowly. He had been spurred on by Craven's voice. He was certain the man would try to pin something on him; that was the way Craven was.

"No, the Third lived," Sephiroth countered. "Tell me, why was it Renault knew about that piece of materia, when you did not?" Sephiroth asked, stepping into the light provided by one of the tanks.

Craven panicked behind his concealing hair. "I'm not sure. Could be any number of reasons..." Craven said unconvincingly.

Sephiroth's expression remained passive, but he knew he had Craven cornered, both literally and figuratively. The light played over his face, glinting off of his silver hair, as he watched Craven.

"He knew all about it, the Protomateria," Renault said quietly.

Renault had always hated Craven, so perhaps now was the time to get rid of the second-rate scientist once and for all.... He could have told Sephiroth before, but he had been too afraid. Now he was bolstered by the sight of Craven being eyed by the General as mere prey.

He could feel his body begin to fill with nervousness, but he spoke the words anyway. "He didn't even give you the papers on the theory of its uses," Renault added spitefully.

"Is that so?" Sephiroth said, tone still flat, though internally he was already beginning to burn.

"No! I didn't even know about it, I swear!" Craven protested, his white-blue eyes gleaming from behind his hair.

"He was going to sell it," Renault said, his voice getting higher pitched as his excitement grew. "It's one of a kind, after all. There is no way he _couldn't_ have known about it, not with how much he sneaks around the labs, going through Hojo's things."

"Lies," Craven hissed.

"I find it difficult to believe, Craven," Sephiroth said. "Your reputation speaks for you, unfortunately." Sephiroth smiled cruelly in the dark, knowing that neither assistant could see it.

"He's just a pissed off, jealous coward!" Craven seethed, his head turning in the direction of Renault, who was now beside Sephiroth.

"What use are you if you keep secrets from me, Craven?" Sephiroth questioned tonelessly. In the darkness it sounded sinister.

"He's just trying to turn you against me!" Craven asserted, rising to his feet. "I knew nothing of the Protomateria! That was Hojo's domain, not my own. I only knew about the research of Grimoire in passing. That's why I wasn't sure if it would work or not."

Sephiroth moved closer, his tall figure even more frightening when it was not fully visible. Craven shrunk back into his corner instinctively.

"I only need one of you to look after the boy," Sephiroth commented offhandedly.

"You need me!" Craven said, his voice desperate, pleading even. "Renault doesn't even know what he is doing, he's a fool! He stocks chemicals, he knows _nothing_ of being a scientist!"

"What is it in your waste of life that you are so interested in keeping?" Sephiroth was stalking closer, so slowly it was almost imperceptible now, but Craven could sense it, and it was driving him mad with fear.

Renault was smiling broadly now that he knew Craven was trapped. It was working out perfectly. His body was shaking with nervousness, but there was also a pleasantness that was beginning to build in his stomach from the sight of such a substantial victory.

"You're making a mistake...Renault is the one that should die, not me! I did everything you asked of me, to the best of my ability!"

Sephiroth was standing directly in front of Craven, his head tilted to the side in mock concern.

"And either that ability fell short, or you kept things from me...no matter which, both are reason enough for me to kill you," Sephiroth stated calmly.

"No..."

Sephiroth's hands went for Craven's throat. They wrapped around the thin, weak neck with a predatory intent, leather pushing against skin.

Sephiroth's right hand easily dealt with the one that came flying at him from under the white lab coat, gripping tightly to a needle. The needle fell from Craven's hand as he let out a loud yelp of pain. Sephiroth had broken at least two of his fingers in one swift movement. His hand quickly returned to its rightful place: throttling Craven.

"Not this time," Sephiroth whispered, his face nearly touching Craven's so that it would be the last sight the man would ever see.

The white-blue eyes were tearing up behind the white hair, the face twisting in fury. He could utter no words, however, as the black-gloved hands cut off his air supply so completely.

There were sounds of choking, of struggle. Craven's hands tried to snatch onto leather, onto anything, but Sephiroth seemed completely unaffected, the strength behind his hold not loosening in the slightest.

Craven's feet began to kick out after about thirty seconds, pure panic taking over.

Renault was positively smirking. It was dark, but he could hear enough to know that Craven was dying. Rightfully so, as well. He couldn't ask for a more fitting justice.

Sephiroth waited patiently, not adding anymore pressure, though he could have easily crushed Craven's windpipe without any trouble. His eyes were cold, but his lips were upturned into a smile, as the white-haired assistant began to thrash with his last bit of reserved energy.

"Enjoy your death," Sephiroth breathed into his ear. "It is the last thing you will have the pleasure of experiencing."

* * *

Vincent nearly fell when the door opened, having to push himself into the wall to not get hit by it.

"You're awake," Sephiroth stated abruptly.

He closed the door somewhat to allow Vincent space, as he himself moved into the room.

Vincent's eyes widened, but to his credit, he managed to keep himself steady. The door clicked closed, Sephiroth's gaze falling on Vincent. The boy must have been trying to get out.

Vincent felt small standing so close to the man. The General loomed over him, the silken silver hair resting gently on the black leather of his jacket.

"Here," Sephiroth said, pulling the wheeled, battered chair over to Vincent.

The boy was pale, too pale. He was shaking slightly as well, likely from all of the strain his body had been under. The transformation into the Galian Beast had literally reformed and restructured him, muscle, bone, and all. He could be affected by it for days.

Vincent stared at the chair a moment, his mind going so many ways at once. He wanted to ask so many questions, but he had no idea where to start, or if it was even the time. The General had just come back, after all, though that didn't seem to stop him from speaking his mind anyway, much to his own chagrin.

"What..." Vincent started, slowly trying to find the words as he bit back the pain that bending down to sit caused.

"Are you sure you want to talk about this now?" Sephiroth asked, observing Vincent critically.

The boy said nothing, at first, likely thinking it over. But finally, he answered: "I know it is soon, but...I need to know. I don't think I will be able to rest until I do. That is if you have the time to tell me," Vincent said, letting out a sigh. It took him a second to realize he hadn't used 'sir' like he should have. He hastily added, "---sir."

Sephiroth could easily see that the boy was troubled; why wouldn't he be? He didn't want to wait to tell Vincent, as it was all very important. Vincent was a SOLDIER, not a child, and Sephiroth knew that one way or another, the boy would handle it. He was...different. He had adapted when no one else was able, and for that he deserved the truth, even if it may have been too soon.

"You are sure?" Sephiroth asked, though he already knew the answer.

Vincent nodded, his ebony hair moving about his face.

"Then let me explain," Sephiroth said softly, leaning into the desk, his hands grabbing onto the edge on either side of his body. It took a moment before he actually began to speak. "I'm not sure what you remember, so I will start from the beginning. But first, I want to say that I will understand if you are angry with me, with the choices that I made for you."

Sephiroth paused, his green eyes focusing intently, though they were not on Vincent. "But I did what I did in order to keep you alive, as you asked. Either way, none of the fault is your own; it was my choices that brought you to where you are now. I am sorry that I may have done things contrary to your own wishes...."

Vincent was quiet, his maroon eyes trained on Sephiroth, who was so calm and reassuring, while still remaining distant in that characteristic way of his. An apology? Sephiroth believed the fault to be his own? Somehow, Vincent couldn't quite believe that.

Sephiroth, as he had said he would, started from the beginning. Vincent listened from the chair, his eyes never leaving the General. The man remained impassive, though from his words, Vincent knew that he was simply trying not to worry him.

Vincent did not ask questions, not until Sephiroth told him of the creatures that were somehow within him.... Then Chaos, that being that had been so adamant, that had wanted to bring about death with the hope of life. It sounded so strange, so foreign. Impossible. But Vincent knew it was true. He could recall the flashes of light when he had awoke as the Galian Beast, even the dream of Hojo, then slashing his claws across Hojo's chest....

Then attacking Sephiroth as Chaos, wanting to hurt him, to _end_ him. The thought that ending life would make things better, would complete some sort of cycle that was supposed to happen.... Vincent wasn't sure exactly what the creature had wanted overall, only that it felt, within the depths of its soul, that what it was doing _had_ to be done.

And Sephiroth believed it was all his fault.... Vincent knew Sephiroth had only done what he had thought would keep him alive. Hojo had gotten in the way, done what all monsters do...he saw an opportunity and seized it.

Vincent wished Sephiroth would have never taken him to Hojo, but he also knew, from the injuries Sephiroth briefly spoke of, he would have either been dead, or left without an arm had he, by some miracle, been able to survive in the care of a typical hospital.

Would he have preferred death? Vincent wasn't certain. He still had no way of knowing what would happen with so many forces inside of him, existing within him, providing their own complications.... A part of him wanted to be angry with Sephiroth for even thinking of bringing him anywhere near Hojo, but he knew that Sephiroth had never intended for things to go as they did. It was not Sephiroth's fault, at least not intentionally. He hoped that the slight anger toward the man would fade, because it felt dark and consuming, wrong even. It was as though it belonged to another part of him entirely. Vincent did not like it.

"Will I become them? Could it just happen?" Vincent asked quietly during one of Sephiroth's momentary pauses.

"I don't know. It is something we will only know with time," Sephiroth answered.

It was his own worry the boy had voiced. Would those monsters manifest themselves in Vincent? Would Chaos ever be able to overcome the Protomateria? From what Renault had explained to him after Craven's death, it was a force that would keep Chaos under Vincent's control. That implied that Vincent might be able to transform into Chaos, use it as a weapon. With that could come many more problems, such as Vincent somehow inadvertently becoming Chaos....

"What will I do now?" Vincent asked, thinking of Zack and Angeal, and of SOLDIER. How could he ever return?

Sephiroth was quiet, contemplating his answer. "Well, I will take you away from here very soon. This place is not safe. But I cannot take you back to Midgar when you are weakened and we still know so little of your condition. If possible, I will find somewhere for you to stay for at least a month, so that you are not only able to recover, but get an idea of what you will be dealing with in the future. That way there is nothing too...unexpected."

Vincent nodded, his black hair moving to cover over his maroon eyes.

"I'm sorry I've caused so much trouble, sir. I should have never asked you to save me," Vincent confessed in a near whisper.

How could he be angry at Sephiroth, when all he had done was try to save him?

"You have no reason to be sorry, Vincent."

Vincent sighed, trying to think it over, to gather what he had just heard. It was so frighteningly unreal. He had heard of Hojo's test subjects, but had never, not once, thought that he would end up being one himself.

There was a numbness that he knew would fade very soon. It would hit him finally, the magnitude of the situation, and he wasn't sure how he would take it. There was too much at one time, and his mind seemed to be momentarily protecting him from that.

Monsters? The Galian Beast? Death Gigas? Hell Masker? And what of Chaos, the one that wanted to end all things? Was that what he was now? Were those things lurking below the surface?

He wondered, secretly, if he himself was now a monster....

* * *

A/N: I did a hasty edit on this one, yet again. Hope it isn't too messy. I might have to go over this whole fic when I finish it.


	19. Wishes Granted, Wishes Denied

**A/N:** I skipped an update. Sorry. I had the hardest time writing this chapter; I have no idea why. I just couldn't seem to write it. It ended up shorter, but ah well, least it's done.

My reviewers are, as everyone should well know by now, THE GREATEST. Honestly, I can't do this damn thing without your encouragement! :D I'd still be on chapter 5 right now.... Thanks to: **KT**, **NicotineGum**, **kiralover44**, **tokidokilove**, **whatevergirl**, **Gismo1**, **me**, **darkkaz**, **Nalie**, **CaseyAnn'sPrecious**, **daiyu amaya**, **minoki**, **OvenBased**, **Risikaa**, **Kyuubi-ismy-homie**, and **ghost of gene rayburn**! As for Malcolm MacDowell, ghost of gene rayburn, he _does_ kinda remind me of Craven. I never even thought about it! The idea for Craven was entirely spur of the moment (seriously like 5 minutes of character development); I have no idea where I got it. I wanted to make a skinny, nasty little shit that was easy to hate. Did I mention I wound up liking him? Ha. Only I can be that messed up....

* * *

There was a long silence, as Sephiroth allowed Vincent to think things over more fully.

Vincent, upon appearances anyway, seemed to be taking it rather well. Given the circumstances, the boy's lack of outward reaction wasn't necessarily what the General had expected. It was worrying, but it also suggested that perhaps Vincent was much more adaptive than even he had previously believed.

"I left Hojo alive," Sephiroth stated, watching Vincent intently. "I would have taken his life, but I decided to leave that choice up to you. I believe he has impacted your life more than he ever did my own."

"He's alive?" Vincent said, frowning, pulling himself from the thoughts he'd been trapped in.

Sephiroth had hardly mentioned Hojo throughout the conversation, and surprisingly, Vincent hadn't thought to ask where the man was. There were far too many other questions he had needed to ask first, though Sephiroth had answered the majority of them. There were some that he knew the General could not answer.

"Unfortunately."

"He can't be allowed to live," Vincent said, hardly believing the words had come so easily.

Vincent had hated Hojo from the minute he heard about him. The man was crazy, and the experiments he done that Vincent was now a witness to firsthand.... Someone that evil could not be allowed to live and continue to kill and maim people simply out of scientific interest and with no regard for the subjects as living, feeling beings.

The thoughts of what he had heard of the man made him furious. Not only had it happened to him, but countless others. How many people had Hojo destroyed for his own selfish reasons? He hated Hojo, despised him. Sephiroth had brought him to the lab to keep him from dying, but Hojo had simply taken it as an opportunity to try out some half-baked hypothesis. Hojo hadn't cared if he lived or died.... All he cared about was proving or disproving something.

No. Vincent could not let Hojo live while he himself had a conscience. The man was sick, a monster in all senses of the word. Shinra hadn't even gotten rid of him, nor had anyone else. That made Vincent wonder. His thoughts went to Sephiroth, then to the root of the entire problem. He looked down at his hands for a moment before building up the bravery to say something.

"Sir, can I ask you a question?" Vincent said, feeling nervous, but at the same time knowing he needed an answer, even if it was not the one he wanted.

"Yes?"

"You've been receiving treatments from Hojo all of this time, haven't you? Just like some of the SOLDIERs were saying...."

Sephiroth's look was not one of guilt, though he felt it coiling in his chest. At times in his life it had felt like a lead weight. "Yes I have," Sephiroth stated simply. He moved from his leaning position, straightening to stand more comfortably. "It is not part of my life that I am proud of, but for many reasons it was something that I considered unavoidable in my circumstance."

"But you could have easily killed Hojo. You must have known what he was doing here," Vincent said, drawing a conclusion.

Vincent could feel the overwhelming worry and disbelief beginning to take a strong hold over him. He hadn't even taken the time to wonder why it was that Sephiroth knew where Hojo's lab was or why Sephiroth had been in a position to convince Hojo to save him. The rumors, for once, were true. The General had been going to Hojo....

"I did know," Sephiroth replied, his green eyes gazing directly into Vincent's. He seemed...sad. He did not look it, but Vincent could almost feel it emanating off of the man.

Vincent needed an answer too much to be embarrassed, even though he knew asking wasn't any of his business. But he had to know.

"Why didn't you just kill him?"

"I needed him," Sephiroth answered, his voice sounding as though it were edged with regret.

When Vincent looked as though he was about to ask another question, Sephiroth elaborated: "The treatments I received from Hojo were...experimental. It was a selfish decision, but I felt that Hojo would be able to help me, while Hollander would not. That was the main reason," Sephiroth said.

Vincent did not like the answer. He looked down at the floor, his maroon eyes troubled. If anyone deserved to die, it was Hojo, yet Sephiroth had let him live....

Vincent was both angry and confused. Sephiroth wasn't a heartless monster like Hojo, but how could he allow the man to live under _any_ circumstances?

"I...have made some mistakes. I knew that if I killed Hojo it would cause even more trouble between Shinra and the smaller companies. Hojo was already becoming well-established amongst them by the time I sought him out. Truth be told I didn't want to lose anymore SOLDIERs to such petty causes. I knew Hojo would continue to experiment, but it would placate those companies, keep them calmed for quite awhile.

"It would cause damage in the long run, were he to reveal the secrets of SOLDIER to those companies, but I did not believe that was Hojo's intention. He was in it for his own reasons, and may have baited them with promises that he did not intend to keep. Hojo isn't a fool; he knows better than anyone that even all of the forces of those companies combined could not compete with those of Shinra. He would be ruined were they to fall, as Shinra can no longer be host to his tastes. By convincing them they were good enough, by say, enhancing their militaries, they would inevitably fight Shinra. He, I believe, intended to postpone that fight as long as possible."

Sephiroth paused, letting Vincent take in what he had said. After a moment, he continued: "But you are right, I could have killed him if I wished it. I have long hated my own decision to allow him his life."

"If you would have just killed him, how many people would have been saved?" Vincent asked, his tone laced with an anger that was beginning to build.

He understood why Sephiroth had done it, but he was having trouble accepting it. The moral part of him was enraged, but the more responsible, reasonable side of him knew that there was probably much more to all of it than Sephiroth was choosing to share.

"Many." Sephiroth looked away, his expression blank, though he shook his head.

"Isn't that what being a hero is about? Saving people?" Vincent questioned, trying to keep himself from sounding as mad as he felt.

"I have never been a hero, Vincent. I am not what posters depict me to be, or what your history teachers tell you I am." Now it was Sephiroth who sounded angry, though it wasn't at Vincent. "I am nothing but a keeper of secrets for a company that continues to do wrong. Shinra is not what you think."

Sephiroth wasn't entirely sure what had prompted him to say what he did, though he suspected that it was the way Vincent had looked up at him so hopefully when he said the word 'hero'. He knew Vincent deserved answers; he would provide them, even if it did not show him or Shinra in the most flattering light.

"Shinra does evil things," Vincent conceded, remembering all of the men who had fallen from shots from his own rifle. His dark red eyes were wandering across the floor. "But do we have to?"

He hated it, but he knew Sephiroth was right.

"Evil is but a point of view, Vincent," Sephiroth said with a sigh. "If it is not us, it will be someone else who takes our place and does it anyway."

Vincent was shaking his head sadly. The anger was beginning to fade as understanding took its place. "I know, but...I can't agree with it."

"Do you believe I do?" Sephiroth asked. "I do what I must. Sometimes what must be done is not what we would like to do. This is a world of wars and power struggles. Even were you not to pick a side, you would likely be forced into the mess anyway. That is the unfortunate way of things."

Vincent's head was bowed slightly. His black hair was hanging in his face. He wouldn't cry; he didn't even think he could. But when he thought about it, how easy it had been to shoot those men, it was...disheartening.

He wanted to hate Sephiroth, think him evil and mad for allowing Hojo to live, and for working for Shinra amidst its corruption, but wasn't that also what he himself was doing?

Vincent knew he did not want to be a hero, not ever. He would help those that he could, but at the same time, he knew many would be lost. It was accepting that fact that was the most difficult part. He didn't have to do what he was doing, yet he had chosen to join SOLDIER. He couldn't just back out, not after so much had happened....

Sephiroth was not evil. And when Vincent thought about it, he wondered what he would have done in the same position. Vincent wanted to ask why it had to be Hojo, why experimental drugs, but his nervousness was slowly beginning to return to him when he realized how it must sound to have so many doubts. He sounded like a civilian, not a SOLDIER.

He knew he needed to stop being so damn sensitive. SOLDIER was about control, obtaining it by any means.... Still, for someone with even the slightest bit of morality ingrained in them, when began to see the inner workings underneath the humanitarian exterior of Shinra...it made him angry.

It was something he knew would take a lot of time for him to either get over, or bury under that same shell that Sephiroth himself had.

"In the future, you may have to make many decisions you will not like. But I should think that you will choose more wisely than I have," Sephiroth said.

"I would have killed Hojo," Vincent said with certainty.

"And you would have made the right choice," Sephiroth agreed. His look had lost its familiar coldness, turning solemn.

There was something about Sephiroth's change in expression that made the anger completely die down in Vincent. The General did regret, he was sorry. Vincent already liked him too much to ever hate him. Vincent knew that Sephiroth wasn't selfish, no matter what the man said. He had left the battlefield to try and keep him alive, after all.

When Vincent thought about all that he had just said to the General, he felt embarrassed. He was still so trapped in his old way of thinking. Did he really think that things could be fair, or that everyone could be saved? He knew he wasn't that naive, yet part of him wanted to be, that same part that had gotten so furious with Sephiroth only moments earlier. The General had done nothing but try to keep him alive, so why would he not do the same for anyone else in his charge?

Vincent felt stupid, ungrateful.

* * *

The room was quiet except for breathing and the whispers of machines monitoring the unconscious scientist.

Sephiroth moved to the edge of the bed, his steps slow.

Hojo was the epitome of 'mad scientist'. There was a set to his features that somehow spoke volumes of his personality. Perhaps it was the crinkle above his nose bridge or the too-deep lines around the permafrown that was his mouth. Even when he smiled, it was never natural; it had monstrous undertones to it, more like an animal grimace than a show of happiness.

The white lab coat was wrinkled, disheveled. There were still slashes through it, complete with blood that had long dried. The smaller strands of black hair were no longer held in the ponytail, giving the man an unwashed appearance.

Sephiroth's jaw clenched in hatred, loathing. There was nothing about Hojo that Sephiroth cared for or liked; the man was everything he never desired to be. Though Sephiroth had more or less grown up around the scientist, he had developed not even the slightest feelings of attachment.

But if he were completely honest with himself....

There was one thing he hadn't told Vincent. He knew Hojo was keeping many things from him. With Hojo dead, it was likely he would never be able to fully come to understand his past. His mother—Jenova—was dead. Gast had run off. As far as Sephiroth knew, Hojo was the only one who knew anything about his personal history.

In the end, Sephiroth knew it likely mattered little, but the child in him, somewhere, somewhere good and buried, was desperate to know. He had wondered all of his life, questioned his every motive, curious as to who it was that had provided the pieces.

In the end, Sephiroth had wanted a picture in his mind of what 'family' was. Growing up in a lab, he never felt loved or cared for, more hated. Like burden. The closest he'd ever come to feeling a sense of caring was toward his friends Angeal and Genesis.

He knew it was time to kill such petty wishes in himself. They were nothing but distractions to stand in his way and cause unnecessary pain. He was who he was, it wouldn't change. How would knowing who his parents were change anything, make anything different? As far as he knew, his mother had left him to Hojo. That alone was information enough for Sephiroth to acknowledge that his parents were probably nothing like the picture he had built up over the years.

Yes, Hojo would die pathetically. A flicker. There would be none to mourn his passing, and there would be no grand death to further his ego after death.

Sephiroth knew that he himself was facing an uncertain future. He would have to begin learning the formulas for the injections Hojo had given him, and experiment with them for himself. Before he left the lab for good, he also planned to go through as many of the test reports as he could get through, to see if he could find any previous experiments close to Vincent's, and perhaps any...regarding himself.

Hojo's death would mean nothing, would _be_ nothing, just as those of all of his experiments had been.

Sephiroth was half laying on the bed, his silver hair pooling over the pillow as he bent down close to Hojo's ear.

"I know you can hear me," he said quietly, sadistically. "Did you think you would get away with what you've done? Did you believe that I would forgive you?"

Hojo made no response. He couldn't. He was awake, but unable to answer, just as Sephiroth had been so many times before. Had the man been able to open his eyes, all he would have been able to see was the stark white of the ceiling. That white room he had taken so much pleasure in implementing as punishment for his test subjects would now be the one he would take his last breath in.

"You never thought about it, did you?" Sephiroth let out a short, bitter laugh. "You only thought about the experiment, what it could do for you. But your time has come to an end. I no longer see reason to allow you to continue to do as you have been. No point. No purpose." Sephiroth yanked at a cord, throwing it disinterestedly onto the floor.

"You are mortal. Like all mortals the memory of you will fade, die away. But I will never just be just a memory...." Sephiroth whispered, a smile coming to his lips. "When you die, I want you to remember that, I want you to know that I was the god that took your life, and you were the human being who was weak and helpless to _my_ will."

The heart rate on the monitor went up, which caused a light laugh from Sephiroth. "Now who is the one who cannot control themself?"

He moved from his place on the bed, standing. He pulled a blue rag from one of the pockets of his coat, balling it up in his gloved fist. He took his time, making the end smaller, somewhat pointed.

"I was originally going to give you an injection, but given your love of control, I thought that this would be much more...suitable," Sephiroth commented, staring down at the rag he held in his hands.

He wrung it, simply to draw the time out, his sea green eyes watching the unmoving figure with an open amusement.

Vincent had chosen to allow Sephiroth to finish off Hojo. It was something Sephiroth greatly appreciated, though he wasn't sure the boy knew it. Vincent had been more than adamant that Hojo be dead, but had decided to not participate. Vincent had seemed to want him to do it, for reasons that weren't entirely clear. It didn't seem to be for a lack of desire to perform the deed himself.

"Open up," Sephiroth said softly, pulling down Hojo's jaw with a gloved hand.

He shoved the blue towel into the scientist's mouth, packing it in over the tongue and between the teeth. He then twisted the other end of the rag, which allowed him to push it further into Hojo's throat to completely obstruct his mouth from taking in air.

With a smile, he pushed Hojo's jaw as closed as it would go, forcing the teeth to clamp down on the material.

The heart beat had become erratic, the machine beeping noisily in warning.

Sephiroth let out a quiet laugh. He reached out with his right hand, using thumb and index finger to pinch Hojo's nose so that the nostrils were flush to one another. He applied a good amount of pressure, eradicating any chance of breath being drawn in.

It took a moment, but the body naturally began to struggle. There was a muffled sound of trying to breathe through the towel. Hojo's chest seemed to jump, trying desperately to take in air that couldn't make its way into his lungs.

Sephiroth could feel that edge of elation. It was strong, powerful. He had waited far too long to do what needed to be done.

There was a gurgling that came deep from the chest cavity, sounding cut off. The chest continued to heave in a panicked manor, but could do nothing to prevent what was happening.

The eyes were still shut behind their glasses, blind to the one who was committing the murder so pleasurably.

Like with Craven, Sephiroth wanted to leave an impression.

With his free hand, Sephiroth's finger moved beneath the round frames of Hojo's glasses, forcing up the eyelid and holding it open.

Everything was slowing down; the monitors attested to it.

Sephiroth leaned in over Hojo's face, his smile broad and for once, entirely genuine.

The man died an insignificant, weak death.

It meant nothing.

* * *

A/N: Seem like all the villains are gone? Just you wait....


	20. Grimoire Valentine and Lucrecia Crescent

**A/N:** I had to change the time line for everything quite a bit to make up for the age difference between Sephiroth and Vincent. Creative license! Ha!

My reviewers...my reviewers.... You're as wonderful as a pint of Ben and Jerry's. Most addictive. Thanks to: **KT**, **kiralover44**, **Gismo1**, **CaseyAnn'sPrecious**, **RedHerring1412**, **whatevergirl**, **Kyuubi-ismy-homie**, **OvenBased**, and **Strange and Intoxicating -rsa-** ! Kyuubi, I'm not sure about AVALANCHE, though I've considered adding them to the story. I might, I might not. I don't have a whole lot planned right now, as bad as that sounds.... By the way, for anyone who critiques, it's greatly appreciated; I may not reply in my author's note, but I'm definitely using the advice when I can, and later if I re-edit this monster. :D

* * *

Sephiroth had already begun to gather much of what he needed from the lab. The documents were the most important, but he also took samples of Hojo's more secret chemical compounds, and enough stock to at least provide the next three month's worth of injections for himself.

Originally he had visited Hojo once a month; it was not practical to see him any more than that, though it was obvious that sometimes the injections should have been much closer together. Sephiroth planned on doing an injection a week, which would mean a lot less lethal dosage at any given time. He was hoping that he might be able to lessen the dosage as well, because the current one he had been taking would not only be impossible to find in future without his connection to Hojo, but it was becoming downright threatening to his health.

He wasn't certain where he was going to get what he needed after the supply ran out. Hollander was not exactly an option; he didn't need the man knowing anything about him besides whatever it was that he was already aware of. He had thought of employing the Turks, but that too was not an option he much liked. The Turks had been aware for some time that while they may have been dropping him off in Costa del Sol, he was using his motorcycle to get to Hojo. They certainly didn't need to know about what he was using for his injections or how much of it.

That left only a few options. He was guessing that in the end he would have to find someone reliable to get the drugs from, and he would have to find a way to ensure that they did not know to whom they were providing.

Sephiroth was also taking a few canisters of mako for Vincent. He wasn't sure what the boy's requirements would be, and Renault didn't know either. Sephiroth had considered, that like himself, Vincent might end up being self-sustaining. Regardless, Sephiroth had decided that he might have Vincent spend the night in one of the mako tanks to help quicken his healing. The boy may not have looked damaged, but internally his body had gone through enough changes to easily kill someone. He was stiff and painful when he moved, which suggested many things.

Sephiroth also needed to call Angeal. His phone had been shut off when he found it laying on one of the tables in a lab room, and was full of so many messages he didn't have time to go through them all. Many were from Angeal, but they did not rival the number of texts Zack had sent. Both of their messages gotten progressively more worried. There were also quite a few from other Firsts, as well as about five from the President.

As Sephiroth sorted through several more papers in search of any useful information, he left his phone on speaker as it dialed Angeal. He pulled out several folders from one of the drawers of the filing cabinet, adding them to an already growing stack.

It only took one ring for Angeal to pick up.

There was a pause. "Sephiroth? Where have you been?" Angeal's tone was filled with concern.

Sephiroth could distinctly make out Zack's voice in the background asking if it was really the General. Things never changed. For some reason Zack acting like Zack made Sephiroth smile slightly.

"It's a long story, Angeal. I'm sorry I couldn't get into contact with you sooner. There are a lot of things I will need to tell you, but not over the phone; I'd prefer to see you in person," Sephiroth said.

"Are you alright?" Angeal asked, telling Zack to quiet down in the background.

"I'm fine," Sephiroth replied. "I also have Private Valentine with me. He was injured, but he is doing much better."

"I'm glad to hear that Seph, I'm really am. I don't know how it happened, but I'm grateful."

Angeal had slipped and called him 'Seph' in front of Zack, but under the circumstances Sephiroth didn't mind. Angeal sounded as though a weight had been lifted, his tone much lighter than it had been only seconds previous. Sephiroth could hear him telling Zack that Vincent was with him.

He could distinctly hear the Second asking to use the phone. Within a few seconds, it was the Zack's voice. "He's okay? You're both okay?"

"Yes, Zack," Sephiroth said with smile at the Second's pushiness. He was looking through several of the folders in front of him, reading the titles and not much else.

"Can I talk to him? Please?" Zack's tone was both happy and relieved. He had obviously been worrying about Vincent, or perhaps even thought he was dead.

"He's sleeping right now. The next time I call though, I'll make sure he is nearby."

"Okay..." Zack sounded disappointed. Sephiroth could easily picture that characteristic sad look that Angeal often said made him feel as though he'd killed a puppy. "Are you going to be coming back soon?"

Sephiroth knew that there was no avoiding it. Ideally, even telling Angeal and Zack about Vincent wasn't something he should have done. He knew all of his phone calls were recorded; it was bad enough that they knew he was off somewhere with a Third, and had abandoned his post. Chances were they were tracing his calls anyway and probably had an all too accurate idea of where he was at that very moment. It was surprising that no one had been sent to the facility to come collect him.

Would he be going back soon? He wasn't sure. In fact, if anything, the last thing he wanted was to go straight back to Wutai or Shinra. He knew there would be a lot of questions as to where he had been.

"I may for a short while," Sephiroth answered, his eyes narrowing as he found a document labeled 'Project V'. The title caught his attention. 'Project' always meant complicated and inhumane.

He placed the manilla folder to the side, just as Zack spoke: "What about Vincent?"

"Private Valentine will need time to recover before I bring him back."

"Oh," came the soft reply. This time he could hear Angeal asking for the phone. "Angeal wants to talk to you," Zack said, sounding somewhat like his old self, though there was still an undertone of disappointment.

Sephiroth waited, his black-gloved fingers opening the folder and smoothing out the old pages. His eyes skimmed over the preliminary writings, but moved quickly to the word 'failure' which had been stamped across the text in glaringly red ink.

"Genesis was even worried about you, though he won't admit to it," Angeal said. Sephiroth could tell the man was smiling slightly from the tones of his voice.

Sephiroth only managed a 'hmm', as he turned one of the crinkled pages, revealing an old picture.

"Don't worry about anything either; I'll clear it all up for you. I'll talk to President Shinra as well as the SOLDIERs, though you will have to talk to them all soon, I'm sure."

Sephiroth's reply was delayed as his green eyes darted over the picture that had been crookedly stapled to the yellowed report page.

"Thank you Angeal, but I will make sure to handle most of it myself. I know there are many other responsibilities that you've been given in my absence," Sephiroth said, trying not to allow his confusion and vague understanding cloud his voice.

Grimoire Valentine, that was who the photo was of. The eyes were just like Vincent's, though somehow...different. Less innocent? More jaded?

Sephiroth shook his head lightly, staring back at the phone. He would think about that as soon as the call was over.

Angeal must have been the one who had kept Shinra from crawling all over the Planet in search of him; it was the only logical explanation. He knew Shinra was likely breathing down the Commander's neck at present because of it. Sephiroth knew he would need to call the President next. It wasn't as though it mattered; they probably already knew where he was, though he would lie about it to the SOLDIERs for Vincent's sake even if he wasn't able to keep everything from President Shinra.

He also needed to get a new phone.

"Are you sure?" Angeal asked, his voice still holding some of that concern from earlier.

"Yes. What about Wutai?" Sephiroth came across sounding curt, but he wanted to refrain from the conversation getting more personal than it already was.

Angeal seemed to understand that Sephiroth wanted to keep the conversation short, so he was brief: "The uprising was repressed, as expected. We lost every Third stationed, and a majority of the Seconds. There were a few Firsts that also didn't survive. It only took a couple of days to sort everything out once the replacements began to make a dent in the Wutai's numbers. Now there is just typical cleanup taking place and we're restoring order for the most part. Zack and I will be heading back for Midgar in another three days; the base has been rather empty, but most are heading back now."

"At least it was taken care of," Sephiroth answered, keeping the bitterness from tainting his words. "I will try to call you soon, and I will be heading to Wutai before your departure," Sephiroth added.

"Alright, I'll see you then."

The call ended, Sephiroth turning the phone off so that it would not ring incessantly. He would call President Shinra within a few minutes, however, it was the file that he was most interested in.

The file turned out to be somewhat incomplete, though it painted an interesting picture. Sephiroth went through the pages several times, fully grasping everything that had been included.

He already knew that most of the files he wanted were the ones that were electronically stored. He'd discovered the hard way that Hojo had planned upon intrusion for the most secretive of his projects. Immediately upon clicking on a file on Hojo's personal computer, it faded away, then a prompt appeared reading 'file not found'. After trying to exit the error message, it just kept continually repeating again and again, then the screen flickered and went blank. When he'd smelled the burning, he'd realized that he may have inadvertently destroyed whatever was in his past with one stupid mistake. The hard drive had somehow fried; the machine wouldn't even turn back on. There was a distinct smell of chemicals along with the burnt plastic, making him wonder what exactly Hojo had employed to so prompty destroy everything.

Perhaps Hojo did have the last laugh.

Sephiroth planned to keep the laptop, perhaps have it checked by someone, though that in itself would be risky.

The past was better left as it was: the past. Sephiroth's inkling to learn about his orgins felt as though it may have finally been put to rest. He didn't need to know, and at the same time, he wasn't entirely sure he even wanted to. He hadn't been completely convinced after ending Hojo, but the computer seemed to confirm what he felt: there was little use for any of it. It was done. Over.

The report about Grimoire explained a lot. What it didn't tell was why, though Sephiroth had his suspicions.

Grimoire had been used as a test subject, just as his son.... Also considered to be a 'failure' by Hojo's standards. According to the description, the experiment had been one to test some sort of cloning device. There was nothing listed about the machine itself, only that it would take one subject and transfer its likeness into another subject.

Degradation. That was what they had called it, the cause of the failure. Several more pictures had been included, showing a man that as far as looks, was not Grimoire, though the photos were labeled with his name. He got older and older with each subsequent photograph though they were mere hours apart, his hair whitening and skin growing greyish with sickness. His eyes dulled considerably in the later photos.

What had been the most surprising, was that listed on the sheet as participants were both Lucrecia, Grimoire's assistant, and Hollander. She might have betrayed the scientist, but the dates listed on the reports convinced him otherwise. She was not listed in the preliminary testing, only in the observance afterward. Perhaps she had not known that it was Grimoire?

Sephiroth was almost certain Vincent himself was not aware of any of it; his hatred of Hojo had been personal, but it had not been as extreme as revenge for the sake of another might have been. Vincent would have likely killed Hojo himself had he known the truth about his father's demise, that was if he was even aware that the man was dead.

Sephiroth would not tell Vincent, not now. In future he would likely give the boy the reports to keep, but he would wait until he became more adjusted. There were still too many questions to add even more into the mess.

As for Hollander, Sephiroth did not find himself with any feelings of surprise. Hojo and Hollander, as far as he had known, had only been competitors, enemies, but were there to be enough interest behind a project, he was sure Shinra had no problem applying as many minds as possible, regardless of personal feelings.

It was interesting that individuals who were so apathetic were still able to hold grudges. It was an apathy not from experience or for mental protection, but selfishness. They could hurt as many as they pleased, yet the tiniest fraction of percieved personal injury and it was suddenly the basis for revenge.

* * *

Vincent was resting in the mako solution, his maroon eyes peacefully closed. His black hair swayed with slightest of movements from the bubbles, sometimes covering his face.

The tanks had been specifically designed for the mako enhanced. The solution was breathable, while its chemical properties were diluted enough that they wouldn't cause any further harm, but in fact help the body to better heal itself. Sephiroth had spent time in them himself, particularly when he was drained of magic, or had gone through a grueling experiment with Hojo.

Vincent had been quiet when Sephiroth had come to get him to bring him into the lab, obviously deep in thought, though he did not appear troubled as he had during their earlier conversation. Sephiroth had told Vincent about Angeal and Zack, which had made the boy smile.

Sephiroth had sorted out the business with the President, and had already arranged for the Turks, Reno and Rude, to come with his motorcycle to the same location that they had dropped him off at. From there they would fly to Nibelheim and be left. They would take the motorcycle to the coast, west, a ways from Cosmo Canyon. The place was nearly desolate, but Sephiroth had rented one of the rickety homes there before; it would be a suitable place for Vincent to recuperate. It was one of the few places that had come to mind as comfortable while still being a good distance from any form of civilization.

Sephiroth knew it was not only better for the boy, but himself. He would be spending time there as well, as he planned to at least make the mess up to Vincent in small ways. It would be easier on both of them were both Shinra and the public unaware of where they were, and if something did happen to Vincent from the experimentation, he would be able to deal with it without the complication of onlookers.

The President had been short in their conversation, but Sephiroth had ignored it. He knew that no one would be questioning his judgement as they had done over the base in Wutai. He had already told the President that he planned to spend a time away from base, mentioning nothing of Vincent. President Shinra had been surprised, but had allowed for it (not that he had much choice in the matter). Sephiroth had never once requested for time off, but he had already come to the conclusion that he needed it, if not for himself, then for Vincent. There was nothing Sephiroth could do to change what had happened, but he could at least make the effort to ensure the transition wasn't incredibly extreme. There would be many new problems Vincent would be forced to face.

They would be leaving the following day. It was sooner than he would have liked, but he planned to leave Vincent while he met up with Angeal in Wutai. He was avoiding the base for the time being, as he was not at all in the mood to deal with the questions that would be an inevitable part of returning.

Renault was watching the mako tank while he dug up more of the reports the General had asked for. He had a repeatedly fleeting belief that he might actually survive, that Sephiroth might not intend to kill him. The man had not shown any outward hostility toward him, though he was not a fool; he knew that Sephiroth was not one to give warning before he slit a throat. The thought made Renault nervous. He was trying to appear as valuable as possible in the meantime.

"Come here, Renault," Sephiroth said softly from over the spread of documents he had lined up on the chrome counter.

Renault looked up from what he was doing, feeling an overwhelming wave of apprehension take over his body. He tried to make his steps normal, as he moved over to where the General was seated, the man's long silver hair trailing over his back, looking severe against the black leather of his coat.

Renault stopped next to Sephiroth, clasping his hands behind his back to keep them still.

"What do you know about Grimoire Valentine?" Sephiroth questioned, his expression unreadable.

Renault felt some of the nervousness subside instantly, but his voice was still somewhat shaky when he answered: "Not much. Hojo did not like to talk about him," Renault said, being honest.

"Tell me what you do know," Sephiroth ordered, his green eyes assessing.

"Well, I know that he and Hojo used to share a lab. But Grimoire left eventually, supposedly because he didn't agree with Hojo's experiments. No one really knew where he went," Renault said, not able to hold the General's intense stare.

"And?" Sephiroth prompted.

"Uh...well..." Renault was trying to recall everything he had heard. "I think Lucrecia, the one that helped Grimoire with his theories on Chaos and Omega, she used to be Hojo's assistant. She left not long after Grimoire did."

Sephiroth appeared disinterested, but he had already begun to piece things together with that bit of information.

"Why did she leave?" Sephiroth asked, still sounding as though he was speaking of something mundane.

"I–I'm not sure...I mean there were rumors. She came to hate Hojo or something," Renault answered nervously.

He did not like that he was giving Sephiroth information he wasn't certain about; it could come back to haunt him.

"It was after she left Hojo's lab that she began to work with Grimoire on the theories, yes?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure," Renault replied.

How had Lucrecia gone from leaving Hojo to working with him yet again? There was something about that aspect that seemed off. His original theory seemed correct, however: Lucrecia had likely not known that she was watching Grimoire slowly die.

Hojo and his manipulative ways seemed to never end.

"Do you know how Grimoire died?" Sephiroth questioned, after a short silence.

"I've never read anything official," Renault admitted, "but I think he was killed in some sort of lab accident or something."

"What happened to his assistant, Lucrecia?" Sephiroth continued, not phased by the idea of an 'accident' being spread around.

"She died not soon after I think. I'm not sure how."

Sephiroth nodded. Her death was likely Hojo's doing. It seemed as though there were a parallel between it all. Both Lucrecia and Grimoire had been people Hojo obviously wanted to seek revenge upon, and he had done it, as always, without conscience.

"I think Grimoire left a kid behind too, or at least, that was the story. He was supposedly involved with some well off woman during all of those years," Renault added, his eyes darting to the General's face then to the floor nervously.

Sephiroth repressed a smile. "Anything else?"

"Not much. Most of it happened before I even came to work for Hojo. I only know it through the grapevine," Renault confessed, putting one of his sweaty hands inside his lab coat to stop it from shaking. Sephiroth had a way of making one feel as though he would as soon use you as kill you.

Sephiroth gave a curt nod of his head, his eyes distant as ever. He looked back to his papers. Renault stood there stupidly for a moment before realizing that it was the General's not-so-subtle way of letting him know that he was through talking to him.

With a half smile, Renault moved away, back toward the tank. He was just glad to be away from the eyes that felt so scrutinizing. Sephiroth was like an inquisition when his green eyes focused on someone unwaveringly.

* * *

Sephiroth worked until late in the night, his thoughts often going back to Grimoire and the experiments done on Vincent. He glanced at the swirling green mako from time to time, watching Vincent's placid expression through the glass.

The irony was that Vincent happened to be the son of Grimoire, a scientist that Hojo must have hated. And he, Sephiroth, had inadvertently brought the boy straight to the one man who held a grudge against him.

The more time he took to think about it, the more he realized how many dangerous webs Hojo had been spinning all at once.

For some reason, his instinct plagued him with the idea that the there was much more to be discovered, many more webs of deceit. Hojo's world had been one of secrecy and lies, much like his own, Sephiroth mused.

The truth was, everything that had a beginning had an end. But this, all that had happened.... Why did he feel it was not yet the end?

* * *

**A/N:** Anyone drooling over the thought of Sephiroth and Vincent frolicking or doing...other things...at the beach? I'm fairly certain that's where some sex will be happening. Eventually. Ha. Anyway, if anyone has questions about the changes with Lucrecia and Grimoire, please ask. I know I left quite a bit out, but it was because of Renault's lack of knowledge about it, not because I wanted to be evil :) SEPHIROTH'S A DRUGGIE! XD P.S. RedHerring you guessed a bunch of stuff right! Seph is taking a vacation! Poor bastard needs it....


	21. Not Antiseptic

**A/N:** I was gone. I still have no idea how I managed a chapter. I feel like it's a bit choppier than I'd like, but I'm not going to nitpick. I will likely be posting every two to three days during the holidays, since everyone seems to drag me into stuff *shakes fist* I'm the Grinch. I hate Christmas, and it's not even here yet!

Don't worry, I adore all of you, and I am loving writing this! And if I could I would skip sleep to get out another chapter for you! I feel guilty. Thanks to: KT, kiralover44, Valitiel, Gismo1, DelphiProphesy, Nalie, CaseyAnn'sPrecious, minoki, Kyuubi-ismy-homie, Risikaa, OvenBased, whatevergirl, and NicotineGum! And Nalie, don't worry, it was totally me; I fucked up. ghost of gene rayburn, you have permission to smack me on the head...I was talking to you in chapter...19? I think it was chapter 19. Anyway, you mentioned Malcolm MacDowell and I wrote Nalie for some reason. Yep, smack me with an axe. Sorry. I keep posting at 4:00 in the morning while I'm half sleeping on my keyboard.

* * *

Vincent was still very weak, however, he did his best not to show it.

He was sitting next to Sephiroth in the helicopter, his dark eyes looking out at the scenery that continually passed by the open doorway.

Sephiroth was doing something similar, as Vincent stole a glance at him. He couldn't help but look; Sephiroth was exceedingly quiet at times, which made Vincent feel somewhat awkward. He realized though, that the General had as much to think about as he himself did.

The flowing silver hair was trapped behind Sephiroth's back, but wisps of it always managed to escape, flitting their way into the man's face, or finding their way over to Vincent.

Vincent had always wondered why it was that Sephiroth wore his hair down; he never changed it. It must have been difficult to fight with so many silken strands to get tangled in. Vincent smiled to himself. It was...rebellious, not only to have such long hair, but to refuse to make it at all times, neat and orderly. And Vincent knew no one would dare tell the man that he needed to cut his hair, or arrange it differently.

There was so much he didn't know about Sephiroth. The man kept secrets, his eyes told that much. Yet everyone thought they knew him. Vincent knew he himself had at times thought he somehow understood the General, but really, what did he know about him? Virtually nothing when he actually considered it.

Vincent looked over again for a moment, only to find the green eyes in question staring right back at him. Vincent could feel his skin heat a little, but he refused to seem so shy and unsure, his own gaze unwavering from behind the locks of black hair that kept getting in his line of vision.

Sephiroth only observed him, saying nothing. The man seemed like a statue, save for his wild hair.

Had Sephiroth known he was watching him?

"Can I ask where we're going, sir?" Vincent said through the loud noise of the helicopter.

There was the slightest hint of a smile on the General's lips. "Near the ocean," Sephiroth replied simply, his eyes darting to the scenery passing outside of the doorway Vincent was closest to.

Renault was still alive and well. Sephiroth had chosen to leave him alive; instinct told him the assistant was no direct threat. He had also easily convinced Renault to keep in contact with him. Sephiroth had decided he would use the assistant as a way to get the drugs he needed, as Renault was far too nervous to ever turn against him. As long as Sephiroth kept an eye on him, he could be useful the same way Hojo had been.

It was likely the assistant would maintain Hojo's lab; there would be many questions, but Sephiroth had made it clear that he was not to be mentioned, nor was Vincent. It would be Renault's responsibility to create a lie for all of the hosting companies. It mattered little to the General if Renault was killed because of it, or confessed his involvement. Sephiroth did not regret his decision to finish Hojo, as it was what had needed to be done for quite some time. Any consequences would not negate that simple action.

Vincent nodded, not sure what to say. Instead he tried not to stare, turning away toward the doorway. He was very painful, his muscles sore, though the mako solution seemed to have helped somewhat. He wasn't stiff and almost immoveable as he had been before, though he definitely wouldn't be doing anything that required exertion for several days, if not longer.

The rest of the way was quiet as they neared Nibelheim. Vincent had never seen the place, only heard of it. He knew though that it was not their destination; Sephiroth's motorcycle was strapped down in the small space in front of them, held by several thick ropes that were tied to metal plates in the floor. Nibelheim was not near the ocean, at least not very close.

It was odd the way Sephiroth seemed to trust the two Turks; they weren't always on the best of terms with SOLDIER. Though they worked alongside one another, it was often quite grudgingly and with little more than a vague respect. But he had the impression that Sephiroth knew these two quite well, as they had all talked easily with him when they had arrived to pick them up. It was almost joking (at least on Reno's part), which made Vincent feel somewhat at ease. He remembered the Turks from his flight to Wutai, as well as glimpses of them through half lidded eyes when Sephiroth had taken him to Hojo.

The helicopter set down outside of the place itself, sending puffs of dirt up and anything nearby swaying.

The blades slowly winded down, their shadow swirling over the ground in the midmorning sun.

Reno turned in his seat, giving Vincent an arrogant smirk over his shoulder. "Thank you for choosing Reno air."

There was a bit of clattering as Reno struggled with his seatbelt, trying to wrench it from the holder. Rude only shook his head, easily undoing his own buckle and rising from the chair.

Sephiroth had gotten up as well, crouching to begin unfastening the ropes that lashed down the silver vehicle. Vincent tried to help, but realized almost instantly that if he bent down far enough he might not be able to pull himself to his feet again. Luckily Rude was already untying the ropes alongside the General.

Reno was all smiles when he made his way past the motorcycle, casting a glance at the two at work as he adjusted his goggles on his forehead.

"You know, I think they deserve each other," Reno said with a grin, jabbing a finger over his shoulder and raising his eyebrows suggestively. "Too much hair and not enough hair. Baldy and Hairy."

Vincent couldn't help but laugh a little, noticing that both Sephiroth and Rude were ignoring the redhead.

"They both don't talk either. Strong silent types," Reno was nodding to himself, his grin even wider.

Vincent shook his head, smiling. He could feel himself beginning to blush slightly from the implications. Unlike the conversations from other SOLDIERs, he knew the Turk was just being himself and meant no harm.

"Kid, I think you need to be recruited," Reno said, cuffing Vincent on the shoulder. "I need someone to laugh at my jokes; it helps the self esteem. All this silence and staring is hard on a poor lonely bachelor. There's so much tension it's...uh...aw fuck, what's the word?" Reno waved a hand around in emphasis, "You know that fancy one?"

"Palpable?" Vincent suggested.

"Yeah, yeah, that one, yo!" Reno agreed, pointing back to Sephiroth and Rude again. "Yeah, they're uh...palpable. It's palpable...whatever... And besides, don't you think they would have lovely, mute children?"

"Reno..." Rude warned, though his lips twitched a little.

"What? I'm just saying. Like don't they do that crazy kind of shit over in the labs? Yeah, I'm sure they do...like blend things together and stuff...Besides, don't be ashamed man, it's okay. I know you really want some kids with hair on their heads...it's the perfect solution. You don't have to be bald forever; I'm sure they'll figure it out, yo."

Vincent tried not to laugh audibly from the way one of Rude's eyebrows arched from over the top of his dark sunglasses. Reno had his arms crossed in front of him, as he glanced over at his partner. Upon seeing the look Rude had conjured, Reno's expression changed to 'oh fuck, I think I'm in trouble', as he grinned broadly and made his way out of the helicopter in full retreat, red ponytail swinging behind him.

Vincent's eyes had traveled to Sephiroth, who looked up at him momentarily. The General wasn't smiling, but his eyes were different, amused. Both he and Rude easily maneuvered the bike out of the doorway, Vincent moving to the side to give them room.

They set it down on the dirt, Reno skulking off to the side, trying to hide his mischievous grin. Vincent slowly made his way out and to the ground, having to hold into the doorway to help his battered body.

He was still wearing the clothes that he'd found in the chair. They were oversized, but they covered him at least. The slight breeze kept catching under his shirt, chilling his stomach and chest and blowing the material in every conceivable direction. Sephiroth's silver hair and long coat seemed to be likewise affected.

Sephiroth was prepping the motorcycle and adding their luggage, as Reno came sauntering over to Vincent.

"Yeah, look at those lovebirds," Reno said lowly, wagging his eyebrows.

Rude was standing next to the bike, talking quietly to Sephiroth from behind his dark sunglasses.

Vincent shook his head, unable to suppress a smile. "They're going to hear you..."

Reno was quite for a moment, seeming to decide whether or not he wanted to say something. Naturally, impetuousness won out. "So uh...you okay?" Reno asked, his look becoming more serious.

Vincent frowned for a moment, then nodded. "Yes, I'm fine."

"Cool," Reno answered, messing with his goggles. He seemed nervous suddenly, pushing at the dirt with a shoe. He was about to say something else, but never got the chance.

"Private Valentine," Sephiroth called.

Rude was standing stoically with his arms crossed, his expression looking stern. Reno followed Vincent, grinning cheekily to his partner, all seriousness forgotten. Sephiroth was already on the motorcycle, the engine rumbling almost imperceptibly.

Sephiroth would have brought a second motorcycle for Vincent to use, both for the trip, as well as for later when he would be staying at the house, but it would just cause more questions to arise. There were enough of those.

Vincent was suddenly embarrassed. He hadn't even taken the time to think about the fact that he was going to be sitting very close to the General. He shook his head as discretely as he could, and stood next to the bike awkwardly. Firsts shared motorcycles all of the time; in fact he'd received brief training both on how to operate one safely, as well as to compensate for a second rider. It was a perfectly normal occurrence, but for Vincent it was suddenly a nightmare.

He hadn't thought of the dreams lately; he hadn't had them, only the ones filled with strange monsters and bloody corpses during his unconsciousness. In fact, he preferred those gory dreams and had been thankful that the others had not returned to haunt him during his stay at the lab. There seemed to be a residual anger deep below the surface of his consciousness, something that he couldn't exactly acknowledge openly, but he somehow felt, unsure of what it meant.

Vincent moved to get on the motorcycle behind Sephiroth, awkwardly trying to not sit too closely to him. He grabbed onto anything near his hands to brace himself, completely avoiding Sephiroth.

"Reno, Rude," Sephiroth said, giving a nod. "Thank you."

"Later," Reno grinned, giving an exaggerated wave.

Rude inclined his head, giving a short, reassuring smile to Vincent. It did help to calm him slightly, as he gripped onto the metal until his knuckles turned white.

When the motorcycle began to slowly move, Vincent suddenly had flashes of how fast it had been going when Sephiroth had found him in the desert. He swallowed nervously, as it made its way around the helicopter and toward Nibelheim at a steady pace. He looked back at Reno and Rude over his shoulder, their figures shrinking with each passing second.

It became apparent very quickly that it only seemed as though they were going to Nibelheim. They skirted the village, not even going close enough to be spotted by anyone except for a very brief instant.

Sephiroth, Vincent noticed, had pushed his hair inside his coat prior to getting on the bike. Not only did it keep his hair from flying in Vincent's face, but it made him hard to recognize when he passed by at a swift speed.

It was easy to hold on, at first. It suddenly became an entirely different matter when they had moved away from the village. Suddenly the speed increased drastically, and Vincent felt unsteady holding on to the edges of the bike.

Sephiroth's gloved hand appeared behind his coat just as Vincent tried to quell his own panic. Sephiroth looked back for a split second, his green eyes conveying a silent message. Vincent understood, and took the hand, which wrapped his arm around the waist in front of him without ceremony. It shouldn't have been a problem, but Vincent was completely uncomfortable within seconds.

He could feel the heat radiating off of Sephiroth, even through the smooth leather. His black hair was no longer in his face, the force of the wind so strong that he lowered his head behind Sephiroth's body so that his eyes wouldn't water. He could feel Sephiroth breathing, and concentrated on it as the ground seemed to become a blur. He didn't like looking down; it almost made him dizzy, as his eyes tried to focus on something that was nothing but streaming images. It was exhilarating, but at the same time, terrifying. He had never gone so fast before.

Vincent did everything not to think about how close the General was, trying to ignore the solidity of the waist beneath the coat, and the way he was slowly being moved closer and closer to the boy in front of him. He kept trying to move backward without seeming too obvious, but within a few minutes he was back where he started.

His body seemed to be reacting of its own accord, but combined with the fear he was feeling it wasn't as bad as it could have been. The cold wind had sort of a numbing effect on him, making his face feel dry and his lips feel papery. He had long ago tucked the huge shirt into his pants, which kept it from rising over his stomach and exposing the skin to the wind, and also decreased the likelihood of Sephiroth noticing anything else.

Sephiroth drove insanely compared to what Vincent was comfortable doing himself, making extreme turns at times as they followed winding paths through the landscape. But Vincent wasn't so much afraid of the driving as he was at falling off. He clutched at Sephiroth when they moved too quickly, cursing himself for being so obvious about it. Sephiroth slowed down after that, much to Vincent's comfort and embarrassment.

The wind started to smell different; that was the first thing he noticed. There was the distinct scent of salt and a sort of wetness to the air that seemed to stick to any exposed skin, particularly his face. Vincent felt as though he could taste it, which was a bizarre sensation.

He had noticed that everything seemed...clearer somehow since after whatever it was Hojo had done. Being outside really amplified those differences in a way that the lab could not. Smells and sights had changed somehow, becoming more intense, more sharp. Vincent felt as though he was closer to them, as though he could appreciate them in a way he had been incapable of previously.

When he saw it, his breath caught.

The horizon was water, swaying frothing water as far as he could look into the distance. It seemed to stretch on past the world itself. The partially covered sun sent yellow and white glints across the shimmering ever moving surface, making Vincent squint to see.

The beach was sandy at first, but as they advanced it changed to piled, broken stone, which at times was almost clifflike as it descended into the ocean. Waves pushed forever into the shore, always forced back, never making much more progress than the last attempt.

Vincent couldn't help but sniff the foreign air. It was a welcome distraction to the sensations in his lower body he was pointedly ignoring.

The ground got bumpier as they moved closer toward the rock-covered shore. Vincent was forced to remember just how damaged his body was, as every little movement made him ache. He had been sitting in the same position for too long, which made it all the worse. He didn't dwell on it though, as he realized that they were moving toward a small house in the distance.

Like most homes near water, it was built on a foundation of tall poles, which would hopefully save it from any particularly high tides. It was noticeably weather-worn, the wood slats long turned a deep brown that was almost black and rotted in spots.

The ocean was in front of it, though a good distance away. Directly in front of the residence, were round, polished rocks that had long been worn into the ground from being driven over. There was a small structure toward the back, which didn't seem to be inhabitable.

The oceanfront itself was also rocky, not the sandy beaches that Vincent had seen earlier. Either way though, he didn't mind; the rocks looked as though they would be a good place to train. They would definitely be slippery and a challenge to cross quickly when he was well enough to even attempt it.

They finally stopped in front of the house, the heat rising invisibly off of the bike, though Vincent could easily feel it against his cooled skin. He released the General, moving to hold onto the motorcycle again as Sephiroth turned off the engine and moved off of it. Sephiroth stopped to look at the house for a moment, while Vincent struggled to swing a stiff, sore leg over the side.

He was thankful for the huge shirt he had stuffed into his pants; it covered anything that was still going on.

Sephiroth turned back to him just as he managed to get off of the bike, his green eyes noticing the strain of such a simple movement.

"Are you alright?" he asked, moving forward as Vincent stood near the silver motorcycle unsteadily.

Vincent nodded, trying not to wince. He waited a long moment before walking, taking his steps slowly and avoiding any rocks that would trip him up. Sephiroth walked alongside him, not saying anything, though his hand moved out each time Vincent stumbled.

He could hear the ocean in his ears as he followed Sephiroth all the way up the tall staircase, his eyes wandering across the expanse.

"Is this the only house here?" Vincent asked quietly, as he waited for the General to unlock the door.

"Yes, for several miles. This part of the coast isn't considered as desirable as many of the other locations; its generally rented out by fishermen rather than tourists," Sephiroth replied conversationally, as he let Vincent inside.

The inside was surprisingly well kept. It was almost reminiscent of a log cabin, with the doorway leading straight into a livingroom covered in polished wood with a monumental fireplace that took up most of the back wall. The mantel was made from a huge scrap of wood, though it had been sanded, still full of knots and interesting indentations.

There were two huge couches, which had a velvety black material that seemed out of place with everything else. The carpet was pale, but clean, turning into scratched hardwood flooring as it moved toward the kitchen.

Vincent felt at ease; it was very unpretentious. It wasn't too neat or too clean, and everything seemed to be meant for comfort rather than looks, from the short coffee table, to the sparse decorations and plush couches. It was the complete opposite of the lab he had just come from, and for that, Vincent couldn't help but feel his anxiety diminish. Vincent smiled.

Sephiroth gave a small smile himself, as he turned back to the door.

Vincent was left alone as Sephiroth descended the staircase to get their things. He walked into the kitchen, his hands tracing over the counters as he ignored his stiff, painful limbs.

The island and counters were spaced a good ways apart, with a refrigerator in the corner and a sink that took up a lot of space. It seemed to be for cleaning fish, as Vincent thought of the fishermen Sephiroth had mentioned.

There were two bedrooms down the hall, one larger, the other slightly smaller and more cluttered. Both had nice beds and desks, and the larger one had a floor to ceiling window that the ocean was visible from.

As Vincent was standing in one of the rooms, the lights flicked to life with a dull hum. He realized Sephiroth must have started a generator.

He moved back to the livingroom, noticing that their things were already there. He smiled a little, though he was somewhat angry with himself for not being able to help. He settled on a couch, letting out a shaky breath, as his muscles relaxed against the softness of the cushions.

It wasn't the labs. His eyes closed at the thought, as the familiar antiseptic smell arose from the memory alone. He shook his head, rubbing his face with his hands.

He was just grateful to be somewhere that didn't smell like floor cleaner mixed with blood and mako. It smelled like a house, with the underlying scent of the ocean and all things associated with it.

He was grateful to be away from that place, that dark, sinister metal box.


	22. Adjustment

**A/N:** Reviewers! I love you! I'm posting on Thanksgiving, because you're better than turkey or cheesecake. :D Thanks to: **kiralover44** (I confess, I love Reno...), **whatevergirl** (Some Seph POV in this chapter!), **NicotineGum** (I'm not sure where Zack is...getting it on with Angeal? God I hope so...), **Strange and Intoxicating -rsa-** (Genesis awards? That's awesome!), **Nalie** (Yeah...S&V at the beachouse...*dreamy sigh* I freakin love beach houses!!!), **Kyuubi-ismy-homie** (I admit its a huge fantasy of mine for S&V to get at it in such a nice setting...), **Gismo1** (I smiled insanely writing the bike scene...mmm...), **minoki** (Yeah, we definitely need some humor once in awhile :)), **CaseyAnn'sPrecious** (when I had to choose characters to write about S&V came to mind; they're a lot alike when you think about it), **KT **(You're not perverted...we're perverted together!), **OvenBased** (I like dreary...I'm trying to be good though, and make up for it with beach :)), **SapphireMateria** (I confess that I can't stand stuff that doesn't have facts to back it up...I go crazy sometimes...)

* * *

Vincent shifted, his face moving against the velvety material of the couch. He barely opened his eyes, blinking groggily. His mind seemed to catch up in that moment, as he realized that it was much darker than it had been earlier, nearly night. He hurriedly moved to sit up, only to let out a gasp at the way every part protested sorely.

A thick blanket was covering him, which he pushed down over his legs as he looked around at the darkened livingroom. He must have fallen asleep. He frowned at himself as he balled up the blanket and left it on the couch, shakily getting to his feet.

Vincent immediately noticed that when he focused on a shadow on the wall, the black darkness of it faded to a dull grey. He couldn't discern things at first, but when he stared at the framed photograph he knew was there, within a few seconds of looking at it intently he could see the figure of the man walking down the beach with a dog trailing behind him.

Though he couldn't see it perfectly, it was clear that his vision had changed dramatically; he could probably see passably in the dark. It must have been due to the experimentation. Sephiroth had also mentioned that Hojo had used copious amounts of mako to quicken the healing of his major wounds. That meant he would have a lot of the same abilities that the higher-leveled SOLDIERs had.

Vincent put it to the back of his mind dismissively, knowing that it was only one of many new skills he had acquired. He knew there would be some that he would not like, while there would be others that would be useful. When he healed completely, for instance, he knew his strength would be superior to what it had been previously, which would help him better compete with other SOLDIERs, as well as make some of the training easier on him.

He didn't want to think about SOLDIER. There were a lot of things that would be different because of what happened; he wasn't even sure how he was going to get back into his squad. Chances were, with all of the time he would be spending away from Midgar, when he returned they would be forced to put him in the lower classes. It wasn't the most terrible thing that could occur (he could have been dead, or left amputated, he knew), but he would have liked to have been able to continue on as he had been. He supposed there wasn't much reason to worry over something he couldn't change.

Vincent slowly made his way into the kitchen, placing a palm on the cold counter as he adjusted to the dimness for a moment. He blinked, each second making the blurred shadows gain a sharpness that let him see more defined shapes and vague colors.

"Sephiroth?" he said quietly, wondering if the man might be asleep as well.

He was certain Sephiroth hadn't slept at all the night before, though he wasn't sure if that was just a normal occurrence for the General, or a necessity caused by the situation. It seemed like his job probably didn't allow him much time to rest.

"Sephiroth?" he called again, standing in front of the door to the smaller room.

He gave a light knock, but there was no answer. He tried once more before opening the door as quietly as he could.

Sephiroth wasn't there, but his things were. There was a bag thrown on the dark green bedspread, along with several books haphazardly stacked with documents strewn underneath them. Vincent turned to leave, but his eyes darted back to the bed, catching on the top book in the stack. It was much more ornate than the others, the cover beige with a mild pink undertone. Vincent's eyes narrowed in curiosity, as he took a step closer.

"Loveless," Vincent read, smiling slightly.

He had heard of that book somewhere, he just couldn't quite remember. Either way, just the appearance of it and the title surprised Vincent somewhat; it did not sound like something the General would be interested in, but then again, Vincent reminded himself, what did he know about Sephiroth?

Feeling traitorous for being in Sephiroth's new room without the man present, Vincent walked back out into the hall and shut the door behind him. He did not need to seem like he was looking through the man's things.

The hall was just as quiet as it had been, as he went straight toward the larger room. He knocked on the door just in case, though he seemed to realize it was probably his new room. As he had suspected, there was no answer.

When he entered, everything was as it had been before, though the view had changed. The sun had already set, leaving behind a few oranges and reds, which blazed and glowed over the ocean. The water looked black against the backdrop, fathomless, as it writhed and swayed, sparkling in the low light.

But Vincent's attention wasn't on the sunset for long. His eyes caught onto to movement when he saw it, trying to focus in the inadequate lighting. It was more a silhouette than anything, though the longer he looked the more details his eyes collected.

He could make out Sephiroth's long hair as the man moved in that predatory yet graceful way, as well as the glint of a sword at times, though it too was almost a mere shadow. He always advanced, never retreating, his footsteps quick, and the movements of the sword so fast that Vincent had to squint to see the blur of the weapon as it made a deadly arch or a slash. Sephiroth was training.

Vincent stood by the window for a long time, wanting to leave it, but somehow never quite convincing himself. He felt like he was watching something he shouldn't be; Sephiroth seemed to almost lash out in anger at times, steel sparking as it was cast at rough stones. Then it glowed, rife with magic, catching fire as though it were flammable.

There was something about the anger that surprised Vincent; it was hard to imagine the calm and collected Sephiroth ever needing to let loose. _But that's the illusion, isn't it?_ Vincent thought, watching the burning sword. It was what Sephiroth had to make everyone believe. The realization wasn't new, but somehow that fact that it was confirmed was both comforting and somewhat frightening. After all, what was capable of stopping something that was not only perfectly deadly, but vengeful?

Sephiroth also didn't strike Vincent as one to be impetuous, even in his rage. Sephiroth was calculated, and even in a constantly altering environment, he seemed to be so many steps ahead, almost like precognition.

Vincent could remember all too well the way even Chaos's wrath was something Sephiroth managed to keep up with. Had the fight been to the death, Vincent wasn't entirely certain what the outcome would be, only that Sephiroth and Chaos were...so very similar. There was a coolness that wasn't feigned, some sort of acceptance of their own deaths that Vincent himself couldn't muster.

It was as though they took life by the seconds rather than the days as Vincent himself did. Had Sephiroth been willing to kill (which he hadn't been at the time) and had Chaos been at full strength, they would have torn each other to the bone until one of them fell. No matter which had the upper hand, which was surely to win, neither would stop. They would try to kill until there was no more.

Vincent could feel that anger building, a slow, deadly burn singing all it touched. It was so instantaneous and unexpected, that his hand went to his chest as he took a few deep breaths. His eyes had gone to his scarred left hand, and away from the window. When he looked back up at the sunset and the silhouette, he could feel that malevolence, that _will_.

It did not speak, it only emanated feelings, desires.

_Clean. Purge._

Vincent shook his head, stepping from the window and moving toward the wall, where he leaned, clutching at his chest through the thin white fabric he wore. It hurt suddenly, aching at first, but has he squinched shut his eyes it became sharp, stabbing pains that made him whimper quietly, his breaths suddenly coming in gasps.

_Purge of life, kill. Clean.... Eradicate, destroy...MURDER._

One of Vincent's hands went to his head, his fingers grabbing harshly at his own hair. There was no voice. There was no malevolent sound to accompany the words that he knew it was thinking. He just felt the feeling, his mind somehow knowing what it meant, what that thing inside wanted.

_No_.

It was only one word against exposed nerves, exposed fury and wrath. It was burning, all- consuming hate that made Vincent want to curl up and die.

_No_, he repeated defiantly.

The feelings didn't disappear, but seemed to writhe delicately. Vincent thought it would fade, but instead he was filled with a bizarre, misplaced pleasure. It tickled his insides almost painfully, dancing over his limbs and slowly gathering in his chest. It seemed to squeeze at everything, caressing, yet with an edge of maliciousness that was all too apparent.

That's when Vincent realized it: it _liked_ that it had made him angry, that it had made him fight back.

The feelings flared painful again, though dulled from the razor's edge they had previously implemented. Vincent struggled to breathe, trying not to let out a moan of pain.

Suddenly, it all evaporated as soon as it had appeared. Vincent was left with his black hair sticking to his face, one hand still on his own chest as he heaved, on the verge of vomiting. The pain had disappeared, though there was a residual ache. It was gone, just like that...or was it?

Chaos. It had to be.

He bent in half, an arm over his stomach as he tried to fight off the waves of nausea. It hurt to move that way, but not half so badly as the overwhelming urge to vomit up any bile in his stomach.

Chaos was supposed to be controlled by the Protomateria, from what Sephiroth had said. But controlled...why did he suddenly have the impression that that 'control' was more about outward appearance than anything else? Chaos was still there, it hadn't been banished like a demon. It was just repressed.

Vincent coughed and heaved, tasting a sourness in his mouth, but not allowing his body to purge it. That's when he remembered: when was the last time he had even eaten or taken a drink of something? The thought made him frown, as he stayed where he was for a long, drawn out moment. He didn't know if he wanted to think about Chaos; he was thankful for distraction.

The human body could barely last even a few days without water, as it was necessary on a cellular level; Vincent had learned that much from his classes. He had no symptoms of dehydration, except for the nausea, which he knew had more to do with pain than anything—it was not from dehydration, he was almost certain.

In his health class, the teacher had briefly gone on a tangent about the different solids and liquids requirements of mako enhanced SOLDIERs. The man had mentioned that some of the SOLDIERs, particularly right after a treatment, could go about five days without water, and that was just comfortably without dwindling physical performance. There were so many new things he had to get used to....

Would Chaos be just another of those things? He was prepared to fight it, but he was wary. What was he, just a vessel, a body, against a WEAPON? The only thing he had on his side was the Protomateria, which he was beginning to wonder about. It may have stopped him from changing, but it appeared to do nothing for what was going on inside....

Vincent pulled away from the wall taking even breaths to keep himself from giving into the extreme urge to puke.

His maroon eyes went to the window, back out to the sunset that was virtually gone. The colors had lost their vibrancy, and there was something else....

Sephiroth was gone.

Vincent shook his head again, moving toward the door determinedly. He noticed immediately that there was light coming from under the door, just as he opened it. From the hall he could hear the light steps of boots on the floor, then the sound of the refrigerator door.

Vincent quickly pushed his hair out of his eyes, trying to stand up straighter. The last thing he needed was to look sick or like he was in a lot of pain, though he knew that Sephiroth wasn't one to miss anything.

He went down the hall, reaching out to steady himself at times, though he tried to do it discreetly.

When he made it into the kitchen, he wasn't so surprised to see Sephiroth with a knife, it was more what he was using it for.

There was something about Sephiroth being domestic that was so seemingly out of character and unexpected, that made Vincent smile, his thoughts finally moving away from Chaos.

Sephiroth looked up from what he was doing, his deft fingers still moving and pushing aside what the other hand cut with the knife. He noticed Vincent's smile, but just continued to do what he was doing.

"I didn't know you could cook," Vincent said.

He couldn't believe his own bluntness, his jaw clenching suddenly. He always thought before speaking, or at least tried to. Why had he said that, and to the General of all people? Of course the man could cook; he wasn't exactly incompetent.

Sephiroth smiled almost imperceptibly. "I'm not that fond of cafeteria food; it's generally cold by the time I get to it," Sephiroth stated, watching Vincent.

Vincent was trying to get over his own embarrassment as Sephiroth's green eyes seemed to assess him.

"You're not feeling well," he observed.

Sephiroth's hands had stopped, which made Vincent notice for the first time that he was not wearing his black gloves. The nails weren't trimmed short, though they weren't long either, and the fingers themselves were thin but capable looking. Even the man's hands were androgynous; they had no defining gender, which made them all the more suited to Sephiroth.

"I'm okay. I was just walking around too much, I think," Vincent lied, knowing it was probably in vain.

Sephiroth did not openly dispute what he had said, though Vincent had the feeling the man knew something that he himself didn't. Sephiroth only nodded, his eyes flitting back to the small neat squares he had cut.

Sephiroth easily noticed the way Vincent's breathing was uneven, though the boy was trying valiantly to hide it. But there was no hiding the paleness of his face, which instead of be porcelain as it usually was, looked painted on. It was blotchy and too white, while the strands of black hair were locked together from perspiration. He was also distinctly rigid, as though enduring pain.

The boy had been standing too long by the window.

Sephiroth turned from the island, distributing everything into the cast iron skillet that was already heated. Everything sizzled and popped, as Vincent only watched from his place, never moving any closer. There was something about the way that Vincent always kept his distance that made Sephiroth question whether or not the boy was afraid of him; it wouldn't be the first time.

Usually fear was something he enjoyed in others, though it was not necessarily a healthy enjoyment. It was good to inspire at least a vague fear, even over subordinates, though there was a thin line between what was fear out of respect, versus plain fear. With just fear, it was uncontrolled, instinctual instead of learned, and that was the most dangerous kind.

Something about Vincent being afraid of him was troubling, though he was not sure why. He would have preferred hate, even. Or perhaps he was simply reading too much into nothing.

"How did you end up in the antique store?" Sephiroth asked, turning back to the boy and changing his own line of thought.

The question was surprising to Vincent, who hadn't expected it at all. It took him a moment to respond. "I wanted to find somewhere out of the way," Vincent answered, thinking about it. "It was the only place that looked like the high ground we always talk about in tactics," he said with a small smile, though his eyes darkened a bit at the thought of the building.

Sephiroth nodded, his look intense. Vincent's emotions had not escaped him.

"Did you kill anyone?" The tone was almost teasing, which made Vincent's face heat in shame.

Sephiroth didn't think he was capable.

"Yes," Vincent replied, trying to sound nonchalant, though he had none of the extreme control that Sephiroth did. He came out sounding unsure. "I found a rifle..."

Sephiroth's interest grew. Many of the bodies he found of the rebels lying in the mud had been dead from bullet wounds rather than the more traditional sword slashes or stabs. There were SOLDIERs who used rifles, but it was very uncommon, especially to be done with much skill. Many never got the practice to become proficient. There had been one First stationed that he knew used a sniper rifle, though he had found the man dead.

It made sense suddenly; the bodies had been with in range of the shop. It would have been a bit of a distance, but it could be done.

"How many?" Sephiroth asked simply, disregarding the inappropriate nature of the question.

Vincent's gaze faltered, as he looked around. He didn't exactly feel guilty about it, but he still wasn't used to it, not enough to shrug it off and forget about it. He didn't think he could ever forget that night, the transformation that had taken place inside himself without his own knowledge. He had...enjoyed it. The challenge. He still wasn't sure whether to be proud of himself or disgusted.

"Two clips," he said honestly. "I missed a few times though; it was really difficult to see in the dark."

"I can imagine."

Green eyes were glinting strangely. Vincent couldn't read the emotion.

Sephiroth was tending to the food for a moment, before moving to a cupboard. He pulled a tall glass from the shelf, then brought it to the sink, filling it with water.

Vincent was quiet, not sure if he was supposed to say anything. He took the water that was offered gratefully, trying to ignore the awkwardness he was feeling as the cat-like eyes watched him unwaveringly.

"Don't feel uncertain," Sephiroth stated, picking up on Vincent's thoughts. "It will only complicate things. I'm sure you only did what needed to be done, yes?"

Vincent nodded, taking a long drink of the water.

"Then what is there to be uncertain about?" Sephiroth said logically.

Vincent smiled halfheartedly, though he knew Sephiroth was right. Kill or be killed. He had made his choice, and he was stuck with it. He knew that given the same situation again, he would not have changed his own course of action. He was not ready to die, and he was willing to kill to distance himself from death. Survival.

"Nothing," Vincent answered.

Sephiroth's look was an openly approving one. That coldness that Vincent was so used to seeing mar the man's every expression and inflect every tone, was there beneath it all, but not being used like a safeguard.

Vincent was glad that Sephiroth didn't feel he needed to be too careful around him. It would have been somewhat satisfying had Vincent not been realistic. He was a Third...of course the General wasn't going to feel threatened around him. Even so, a small part of him wanted to hope that Sephiroth saw him as someone who could be trusted.


	23. Facing Reality

**A/N:**The next few chapters will likely be slow (like this one). I'm working on getting everything set up and sort of shrugging off that more depressing/evil atmosphere. My reviewers.... I confess my undying love to you! There would be no story without all your awesomeness! Really, I'm being entirely serious. I have so much trouble writing anything that isn't completely based in sheer evil.... XD Thanks to: **Nicotine Gum**, **kiralover44**, **whatevergirl**, **CaseyAnn'sPrecious**, **minoki**, **KT**, **OvenBased**, and **celestral**!

* * *

After a fairly quiet dinner, Vincent eventually wandered outside into the darkness.

Sephiroth had disappeared into his room, leaving Vincent with little to do. Vincent would have liked to talk to him, but the man had eaten his food, barely speaking a word, then retreated to his bedroom.

Vincent wasn't sure what the change in mood meant, but he knew there was little he could do. Sephiroth didn't appear to be angry, so Vincent tried not concern himself over it.

The breeze felt damp against his skin, smelling salty and oceanic as he took deep calming breaths. He was moving over the rock-covered ground at a slow pace, both enjoying taking his time, as well as going easy on his aching body. He shouldn't have been outside, he knew, but the water was drawing him to the shore.

The waves were rhythmic, lulling even, as they crashed onto the shore then crawled forward several feet, sneaking between crevices before retreating back over the rough black stones that were littered everywhere, burying any dirt or sand beneath their sand-papery surface.

The closer Vincent got to the water, the faster his steps unconsciously became. The shore was hard on his bare feet; he could feel the sharper rocks cutting into the skin, but he did not pay any mind to it. It was like a slope, suddenly, as he neared the stones that were slippery with seaweed and salty, slimy water.

Vincent had never really been to the ocean. He had seen it many times in passing, but the action of standing on a beach so close to the water was entirely new to him and his senses. It was strange to think about how many normal things in his life he had not experienced, versus the other occurrences he'd witnessed that were never supposed to happen....

His black hair kept flying into his eyes, as his pale feet tried to gain purchase on the rocks that were making him bleed. The red was easily washed away by the swift water, blending it with swirling, frothing black. The sea looked like an obsidian stone, having the same glass-like quality that was appealing to the eye along with an underlying jaggedness that was undeniable as it advanced and writhed chaotically.

Maroon eyes watched the waves in absolute fascination, following the movements and the spray of bubbles as the water rushed forward particularly brutally.

* * *

Sephiroth was laying on the bed fully clothed, not having even bothered to cover himself with a blanket. He had not planned to sleep anyway.

Papers were surrounding him, fanned out on any open place, while the books that had been on the bed earlier had been stacked neatly onto a small shelf on the wall. The window was open to let in the scent of the beach, as well as the soothing sound of the waves.

It wasn't difficult for him to focus; he was never one to be easily distracted. He put as much effort into paperwork as he did into warfare, though he found the latter was much more intellectually stimulating regardless of its almost mindless animalistic nature. He did not enjoy reading all that much, as it was generally just statistics or long, dull reports without much substance. Hojo's were exceptionally mundane and void of most valuable information.

Sephiroth had more or less figured out the dosage he would be trying, though he was hesitant to begin the process so soon. He would leave the following day to meet with Angeal, and wasn't certain it would be the best time to try a new round of experimental drugs. He did not understand the chemicals as well as he would have liked, and after reading the descriptions he had begun to doubt whether Hojo knew anything about them at all besides basic function. There were no lists of side effects and no cited lethal dosages. It was troubling.

Sephiroth considered that although Hojo had not been one to use caution, he was not entirely insane; he had known what he needed to know, though not as well as anyone in his care would have hoped. Part of his secretive nature might have kept him from providing any of the more useful information, much like the reports Sephiroth had read on several of the experiments.

Sephiroth sighed, dropping a flurry of documents onto an already growing stack.

Hojo.... How long had he waited to be rid of the man? And it had been a boy that convinced him to finally end the man's life....

Sephiroth had nearly killed Hojo on more than one occasion after Gast left. There had been...nothing. It had been white walls, apathy from all sides, and pain. It was only upon being accepted into SOLDIER that things had finally begun to change, and he wasn't treated like an object, but grew in rank, becoming a weapon. Being normal and human was a luxury he had only experienced while around Angeal and Genesis, and even then, circumstances were very far from any form of accepted normality.

With Hojo dead...would things be different? Sephiroth didn't believe so, at least not upon the foreseeable surface. The question really was, would he been different? Hojo had been the driving factor in his life, whether it was for the good or the bad. The outcome had been mere coincidence. The things he had done were to prove the scientist wrong, to spite him. But at the same time he had inadvertently brought the man pride for being an accomplished subject. There had been no winning for Sephiroth, either way.

Sephiroth had long stopped doing things to make points to Hojo, but regardless, he would always know that he was where he was because of the man. It made him both furious and saddened. He would never escape Hojo, even in death, that was the unfortunate truth...but at the same time, Hojo would also never escape him.... The irony made his blood quicken through his veins.

But such things were passed.

He still did not fully understand why he had taken such an interest in Vincent. He knew it was partially because of Angeal and Zack; the two already seemed to have become well acquainted with the Third. Zack had a tendency to get along with most people, but Angeal...he was very different. Genesis had often commented on how much he, Sephiroth, was like Angeal, or vice versa. Sephiroth truly had never considered it until Genesis had mentioned it. But in a way, it was true.

Sephiroth trusted Angeal's judgement as much as his own. Perhaps that was part of the reason he had gone to such extreme lengths to help the boy. It had been foolish, the entire thing, yet he had done it anyway....

It was a feeling, he had decided, an instinct, combined with something else. Vincent would make a good SOLDIER, but that of course did not mean that he was worth sacrificing several years worth of planning and a careful balance for. Sephiroth had killed Hojo for a mere boy.

Sephiroth frowned, his gaze traveling to the window where the scent of the beach wafted in on a light breeze.

He did not regret it, any of it. In fact, he was very unaffected by it, besides the guilt for nearly killing the Third. Why? Why had he done it?

The more he searched his feelings for an answer, the more he felt himself trying to close off, to block out anything undesirable. But it was there, resounding, evil, making his darker side bristle in loathing at the sheer weakness of the reasoning.

Vincent reminded him of himself.

The aptitude for doing what needed to be done, going beyond. It was easy. But then there was always an afterward.... It had taken a few gory confrontations for Sephiroth as a teen to fully accept his purpose, his lust for killing. Like Vincent, he had been...doubtful.

But there was a difference, of course. The things he had done as a child had been frighteningly sadistic, terrible by anyone's standards, and he had been...very young, much younger than Vincent. It had been on a much grander scale than the boy's first taste of deathbringing. In a way, Sephiroth wanted to prevent Vincent from ever going as far as he had at times...into that dark oblivion where there was no morality, no empathy, nothing but actions for the sake of a few minutes of peaceful bliss...quenched with blood.

It was the look on Vincent's face when he wanted to live. Sephiroth knew the look, and for some reason it had awoken whatever had been long dead and buried. That same part that wanted to know about family, about his parents, about anything from his unknown past....

Sephiroth clenched a fist in irritation at himself. He was far too sentimental, far too dependent still. It made him fill with a dark, hateful anger.

He had saved Vincent for his own selfish reasons, the more he thought about it. He had seen a dead part of himself and wanted to connect with it, protect it from all of the things he was never sheltered from....

But Vincent was different. He wasn't...evil. He lacked that sadism that Sephiroth had given free reign as a child. Sephiroth had gone above and beyond as a SOLDIER because he had not feared death, it had never been because he wanted to save people or be recognized as heroic. Vincent was selfless and caring, which had been something that Sephiroth himself had only learned through trial and error. Hojo had not exactly been the best example of heroism or benevolence.

It was in those differences in personality that Sephiroth was interested in. Vincent was the traditional idea of a hero, yet he had a darker undertone that seemed to contradict it all.

He moved from the bed, careful not to disrupt the papers.

They all had their demons, he mused.

* * *

Vincent reached out a tentative hand, fingers just grazing the cooled, yielding surface of the ocean water. Some of it had gathered between the stones, trapping an orange five-armed starfish in its small enclave of seaweed and tiny minnows.

He pulled tentatively on the arms, which upon appearance seemed to be sealed to the rock. But they gave easily once pried on in the right spots. The creature's body was hard, rough on the outside, with a more soft internal structure. Vincent turned it over in his hand, watching the way the arms started to slowly curl in a little. It was like a stone itself, feeling immoveable, though its underarms were much softer than its protective outer body.

Vincent looked up from sheer instinct.

Sephiroth was standing above him, the breeze catching his hair and throwing it over his shoulder harshly where it billowed like a sheet of silver silk. His green eyes were observing in that detached, yet interested way, one that Vincent still didn't quite understand.

Vincent was taken aback by the man's sudden appearance; he hadn't expected to see him until the following day.

"You cut off its arm, it not only grows a replacement, but the severed limb itself is capable of becoming another starfish in some species."

Vincent glanced at the creature in his hand for a moment, fingers running over minuscule, wriggling feet.

It took a few seconds for Vincent to manage a response. "But is it just a copy?" Vincent asked quietly over the booming of the ocean waves. Vincent immediately got the impression that Sephiroth was talking about more than just starfish.

"Depends on your point of view," Sephiroth stated simply. "By scientific standards it is relatively the same being. Perfect copy made from the same DNA."

A bare hand reached out, cat-like eyes glowingly intense. Or maybe it was just the mako enhancement.

Vincent dropped the creature into the hand, watching as the long graceful fingers enclosed around it. Sephiroth's green eyes were examining the starfish with interest.

"We have choices. We experience differently. Psychology leans more toward nature than nurture in most cases, but the impact of will cannot be denied," Sephiroth stated in low tones, his eyes back to Vincent, who was kneeling on the stones. "We are designed to be one thing, yet can consciously make the decision to be something else altogether."

Sephiroth said nothing more, looking off into the distance, seemingly in thought. He gave the starfish back to Vincent, who placed it on one of the rocks inside the pool, careful to make certain the creature was fully submerged.

Vincent moved to stand, balancing precariously on the slick, yet sharp rocks. The tide had come in a ways, splashing all over Vincent's clothes when he had been looking into the small pool. The white pants he was still wearing were wrapped about his ankles, cold and wet, though he didn't notice much.

Vincent was nervous, more than he wanted to even admit to himself. His stomach felt light, yet clenching at times. He hated the way everything seemed to react just because Sephiroth had paid attention to him for a few moments. His teenage hormones were getting the best of him, but he wouldn't allow it; he concentrated on trying to not care about it, to not care that Sephiroth was so close, or had actually come outside to see him.

Sephiroth appeared statuesque, gazing off at the rolling waves as they made their way toward the rocky beach.

Vincent turned to watch as well, noticing the way the moonlight gave the water a silvery sheen over the overwhelming black.

"Sir, can I ask you a question?" Vincent realized with a start that he had been neglecting to use 'sir' when addressing Sephiroth. He was surprised the man hadn't called him on it.

"While we are here you do not need to call me sir," Sephiroth said, as though catching Vincent's internal thoughts. He was still watching the raging water. "I think we are well passed such formalities," he said with a slight smile. "If you are comfortable with it, you can simply call me Sephiroth. As for the question, go ahead."

Vincent tried to keep himself from appearing too surprised, though he knew he probably did not succeed. Being completely expressionless shouldn't necessarily have been something to aspire to, but Vincent knew it was a skill he needed to practice and master if he planned to get anywhere in such an unforgiving line of work. Not to mention, he needed to learn how to keep his hormones well buried.

"I was thinking about my training. I'm going to try to keep up with it while I'm here, but I was wondering about when I go back."

Sephiroth was silent for a moment, but he finally tore his eyes from the blackness of the sea.

"I will be training you while you are here, when you are able," Sephiroth replied.

Vincent protested immediately: "I don't want to waste your time—"

"It would hardly be a waste," Sephiroth said, his expression vaguely amused through the mask of cool indifference.

Vincent was quiet, knowing his flushed face was not something Sephiroth would miss, even in the darkness. Vincent couldn't hold Sephiroth's intense stare, and looked down into the pool near his bare feet, where the bright orange starfish was still strapped onto a rock.

"I don't want you to train me if it would be a problem," Vincent asserted quietly, not looking up.

Vincent couldn't quell the shock and appreciation that seemed to fill his chest. At the same time, he felt as though it was more his situation that was pushing the man to train him than anything else. He did not want to be a burden.

"It won't be; I will be here much of the time anyway," Sephiroth answered dismissively.

Vincent couldn't help feeling both grateful and disappointed by the answer. He knew he needed to stop himself from feeling what he did toward Sephiroth, especially if they would be spending time alongside one another. He just hoped he could keep _all_ of his feelings to himself.

"What about SOLDIER?" Vincent questioned.

"I suppose that will be under Angeal and Lazard's supervision during the time I am gone."

Vincent suddenly hoped that it was not him that was keeping Sephiroth from the base.

"You don't have to stay with me here; I will be alright. I don't want to cause problems," Vincent said with concern, finally managing the nerve to look up at the man.

"It isn't a problem, Vincent. I do not doubt your abilities to watch out for yourself," Sephiroth paused briefly before continuing, "I have personal reasons for not going back immediately," he said, his long silver hair fluttering about his waist. His tone was bland again, which Vincent easily picked up on.

Vincent nodded, deciding it was best to keep the questions to a minimum, not only for Sephiroth, but for the hopeful part of him that stupidly wanted to relate. It was strange to think that they were on a first name basis.

"I'll be leaving tomorrow for Wutai. I'll probably be gone for at least a few days. Everything here is in order, so nothing should cause any trouble, though I'd advise you to stay off your feet and allow yourself to recover," Sephiroth stated.

Vincent nodded, knowing that Sephiroth was right, though he stubbornly did not want to hear it.

* * *

**A/N:** I hope there is nothing too repetative in this; I keep forgetting what I've covered in previous chapters. O.o


	24. Secrets

**A/N**: I finally managed a update on time. :D My reviewers...ah...what to say. You deserve eternal praise for being so damn nice. Honestly, writing this then hearing your thoughts is...awesome on about a thousand levels. Thanks to: **NicotineGum**, **KT**, **whatevergirl**, **Red-Planet31**, **CaseyAnn'sPrecious**, **kiralover44**, **minoki**, **Traverse & Symphony**, and **Nalie**!

* * *

Vincent ran his hands over his face, releasing a long, drawn out sigh.

The light was shining in brightly through the window; he must have overslept. He left the drapes open in hopes that he would wake up before Sephiroth left, but he was certain the man was already long gone. He sat up, resting his elbows on his knees as he squinted at the stretch of ocean within clear view of his window. It was probably better that he hadn't said goodbye to Sephiroth.

He'd had another dream....

Vincent shook his head, shielding his eyes with a pale hand. It was incredibly bright, his newly sensitive eyes seeming to absorb every blinding ray.

He moved toward the edge of the bed, flinging the blankets off. All he could do was hope that he hadn't moaned too much in his sleep, or made much noise, not that Sephiroth wouldn't have been able to hear it anyway, regardless of whether or not he'd been quiet. The other boys he'd roomed with had never mentioned anything, so it was likely he was quiet even during the more..explicit dreams. Still, the thought of Sephiroth hearing something was more than embarrassing.

Vincent made his way into the small bathroom that was connected to his room, trying to ignore all of the unpleasant things going on with his lower body. It was irritating more than anything, and he was disappointed that after a short stint without any dreams, it had all decided to return again. The last thing he needed was to be infatuated with Sephiroth when he would be spending the next few weeks with him.

Angry with himself, he pulled his shirt over his head a little more violently than was required, then turned the shower on. When he turned to check for towels, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and couldn't help but stop to look.

The long, pink scars were raised and bumpy as they went down his arm, then over his fingers, somewhat crooked at some points. But it wasn't so much the scars that made him look twice, it was his body.

He had always been painfully thin, to the point that even doctors made comments when he had to go in for physical exams. It wasn't as though he didn't eat, he did, but the constant training easily burned whatever food he consumed. That, combined with a fast metabolism, made him wraithlike in comparison to the other boys.

But the days without food and the mako injections had done something to him. He looked sick now. His ribs were stark under the skin, rising in prominent ridges all the way down his torso beneath the layer of muscle and the white skin. There were bruises too, he noticed, stretching over his back then extending over his stomach. They were faded, but they were still visible.

He definitely wouldn't be skipping any more meals.

Vincent pulled down his pants, wondering if there were possibly any other clothes he could wear. He'd forgotten to ask Sephiroth if he could get him a second pair. He left everything in a pile, moving aside the thick glass door then disappearing under the harsh spray of water. The water was steamy, sending up a protective, misty fog around him that made him relax his sore body.

Vincent couldn't remember the last time he had bathed. He could feel the underlying oiliness to his hair as he pushed it around in an attempt to get it wet. Everything, he had noticed, was stocked. There was shampoo in the shower, along with a new, paper-wrapped bar of soap. He had also seen a packaged toothbrush and a hairbrush on the counter by the sink.

The warm water was distracting, bothering him further, though he wouldn't turn it colder. He felt dirty, and he could swear he could smell the lab as he rinsed his hair. He grabbed for the bar of soap, pulling off the packaging, then starting to wash.

But his thoughts weren't where he wanted them to be. He was thinking about the damn dream, and then about having to ride double with Sephiroth on the motorcycle. He shook his head, water flicking everywhere, as he tried to concentrate on anything that _wasn't_ sexual.

It didn't really make a difference; no matter what he thought about, the erection wasn't going away. He started washing his arms, avoiding anything in the lower region, as he tried to think about training. But training inevitably led to thoughts of Sephiroth.

Sephiroth was a man. He wasn't a woman, far from it... Vincent tried to use that thought to somehow convince his body to stop being so aroused, but as he had suspected, nothing happened. There didn't seem to be anything wrong with Sephiroth being a man, as far as his hormones were concerned. Vincent wasn't extremely used to the idea, but it didn't disgust him, and his feelings about it were admittedly not entirely neutral.

The fact that Sephiroth was a man, he found wasn't unappealing. His dreams had more or less showed him that there were definitely things that he wouldn't at all mind doing with Sephiroth. The thought made his skin color.

But that didn't change anything. The fantasy was ridiculous. Sephiroth was the General, and he was probably used to everyone throwing themselves at his feet. He certainly didn't need another avid fan, or some irritating, clingy teenaged boy. Sephiroth had already done enough for him. He didn't need to make things any worse by being a child about his feelings.

He didn't want to think about the people Sephiroth did have sex with, that was if he even had sex. Sephiroth wasn't an unfeeling person, he simply did not like to share his thoughts with others. But the thought of Sephiroth with someone else made Vincent feel...strange. It wasn't jealousy---he knew he did not even have the right to think of Sephiroth as a friend or anything of the sort---but it was a feeling of inadequacy. Sephiroth would never have someone like him, someone who was just low-ranked SOLDIER, particularly one who got choked up because of death and who got angry at the people who saved him.

Vincent sighed. The more he learned about Sephiroth, the more interested he became. It wasn't healthy, it was stupid.

* * *

Sephiroth's hair whipped about him in tangled locks as he walked toward the wrecked base, a Turk helicopter at his back, rising into the sky skillfully.

The bodies were absent, though the destruction was not. Some of the buildings were still painted in artful splatters of crimson blood that had been sent flying through the air by the sharpest of swords.

Bloody patches marred the ground, while burnt black craters were randomly spaced throughout the area. All was testament to the many deaths that had occurred, messy illustrations of the gore that was an inextricable part of war.

Sephiroth could see the strong, stoical form of Angeal, along with the shorter Second, Zack. They were with a few others, standing near the cafeteria talking in a small semi circle.

His presence, as always, was easily noticed. Most of the men stopped conversing, looking to their approaching General one by one with a poorly disguised interest. Angeal turned, upon noticing their distraction, his eyes meeting Sephiroth's. He gave Sephiroth a small, grateful smile, as Zack grinned from beside him.

There was a chorus of 'sir', as Sephiroth stopped near Angeal, his sea green eyes assessing as he looked to Zack briefly, then back to Angeal.

"Commander Hewely," Sephiroth addressed. His gaze wandered to the others for an instant, taking in the faces. "May I speak with you?" It was a cold, distant tone, but Angeal, much to his credit, knew the guise all too well.

"Yes, of course," Angeal answered, glad for the opportunity to talk with his friend alone.

Zack visibly showed disappointment at not being included, his mako glowing eyes watching Sephiroth. Angeal cuffed him on the shoulder and gave him a discreet placating smile, as he followed the already retreating form of the General.

Angeal knew Zack wanted to know what was going on, but it was better that he talked to Sephiroth alone. Sephiroth was adaptive, and had taken to Zack better than he had previously anticipated, however, Sephiroth was not one to speak his mind to just anyone. Angeal wanted the man to feel comfortable, rather than pressured; he had sounded as though he had quite a bit on his mind if their earlier conversation over the phone was any indication. It had been short and curt, which was Sephiroth's form of heavy defense: saying very little while meaning a lot.

It wasn't until they were in a virtually deserted area that they even began to talk, Sephiroth with his gloved hands clasped behind his back, Angeal matching his newly slowed stride.

"I'm glad you're back," Angeal confided. "It's been difficult to explain your absence," he said with a smile.

"I'm sorry you've had to deal with this, Angeal, that was never my intention," Sephiroth stated, his tone apologetic. Much of the coldness had already dissolved, fading beneath the perfect features that seemed too angelic for such constant expressionlessness.

Sephiroth had never meant any of it to happen, that was the irony. His actions had all worked against him, as well as everyone near him.

"No, I know you had things you needed to do. You aren't the type to do things without reason," Angeal replied reassuringly.

Sephiroth would have smiled bitterly at the comment, but it was not the appropriate time.

Reason? What were his reasons, his motives? Angeal and the SOLDIERs always had a faith in him that was on the verge of being completely blind. He himself did not always trust his own motives; his underlying personality traits did not exactly suit traditional ideas of morality.

Sephiroth's looked to the ground, his head giving the slightest nod. He had been long debating with himself how much he would tell Angeal about Vincent's new...attributes. He knew that there would be innumerable questions from Shinra, but that he would deal with in due time as the inquiries arose. He would keep it short and an uninformative. With Angeal, however....

Sephiroth had neglected to ask Vincent what he felt in regards to his tutor knowing. Really, he had more or less decided that it was probably best for Vincent to choose whether or not anyone needed to know, beyond the basics, what had occurred. Sephiroth did not wish to take any more of the boy's decisions from him, and this was purely his choice to make. He would only tell the simple side of the story; Vincent could keep the rest a secret if he so wished.

Angeal was observing Sephiroth, his expression relaxed, though he had many things he wanted to ask. But he knew Sephiroth would choose to answer as he wanted and would likely take his time. Angeal would not rush him.

"I doubt you will agree with what I've done. In fact, I would not hold it against you if you do not," Sephiroth said measuredly, thinking over each and every word. He needed to tread carefully.

Angeal waited, noticing the stiff posture that Sephiroth was for once, not bothering to hide.

"I found Private Valentine injured, and retrieved him with the help of one of the other Firsts. He was damaged, to the point that I doubted he would live more than a few hours, even in the best of care."

Sephiroth paused, his green cat-like pupils darting over the blood stains that streaked the ground. "Against my better judgement, I escorted him to the proper facilities anyway," Sephiroth stated, his tone missing inflection.

Angeal nodded, his look turning concerned. He could easily tell that whatever had happened was troubling Sephiroth; his friend was not trying to conceal it, though he was attempting to remain emotionally distant from his own words, which surprised Angeal.

"His arm was nearly taken off, and it is unclear whether or not there will be any further problems with it, " Sephiroth added cryptically, giving just enough information before finally looking his friend in the eye.

Angeal let out a sigh, his brow furrowed in worry as well as thought. "Can he move it?"

"It appears to be fine, for now," Sephiroth answered. "I haven't seen too much restricted movement, though he is still quite sore overall."

It took a moment for Angeal to fully gather the proper words. "Sephiroth, you would not make a choice without regarding it from every angle," Angeal said consolingly. "If he can at least move it then a bit of weakness can easily be compensated for with the right rehabilitation."

"Yes," Sephiroth said flatly, reigning in some of the emotion he had been allowing past the barriers.

Angeal was far too perceptive; he wasn't being careful enough. Part of Sephiroth wanted to ask consolation from his friend, but he knew that doing so would mean revealing what had happened to Vincent. He would have to keep his guilt to himself.

Angeal did not like how easily the mask moved into place. Sephiroth had shut down without warning, which meant that the situation was plaguing him.

"Vincent is young. He deserves a chance, and will make a good SOLDIER. With some extra time, I'm sure he will be easily brought back up to speed, permanent injury or not," Angeal commented, allowing one of his hands to rest on the silver pauldrons that covered Sephiroth's shoulders.

"Yes, I know you are right," Sephiroth answered, his feelings unreadable.

Angeal was not so easily persuaded, his eyes moving over Sephiroth's face in marked observation. Sephiroth was cool and detached, every feature extraordinarily blank, as though no thoughts passed through the mind beneath. Angeal sighed loudly.

"If you can't talk to me, then who else?"

"It is not you, Angeal, it is me. It has always been. I ask you not to take it personally," Sephiroth responded, looking away, off toward the far buildings.

Angeal frowned in defeat. He would not push him.

There were many questions he would have liked to ask, but he respected Sephiroth too much to ever try to demand anything from him. Something had definitely happened, and Angeal suspected there was likely more to it than just Vincent, though the boy was obviously a part of it. Sephiroth had been gone without word, which was highly uncharacteristic. But Angeal would not ask questions, not when Sephiroth had more or less requested that he did not enquire any further.

* * *

"Well, if it isn't everyone's favorite hero," Genesis commented, his eyes looking over Sephiroth in a dismissive manor.

He had a blue-hued apple in the palm of his gloved hand. He had already taken a bite, the juices running down the side of the Banora White, onto the rust-colored glove. He was sitting, leaning lazily into his right arm, feet dangling over the edge of the low concrete wall.

Sephiroth was silent, only observing Genesis, who was not bothering to quell whatever anger he was feeling. The glare of his blue eyes was intense, malevolent even. But Sephiroth did not return the fury; he remained impassive, spurring Genesis into a bitter diatribe:

"_The gift of the goddess is what the three men seek/But their fates are scattered by war_," Genesis said with an indulgent smile, as he bit down on another mouthful of apple. He looked at it for a moment, turning it in his hand. There was a long pause before he spoke again: "And one runs off, to where, no one knows." The words were sharp, accusing.

Genesis moved off of the wall with grace, his coat billowing about his ankles.

"But for some reason, I find myself not caring," Genesis said lowly, stalking toward Sephiroth, his arms extended mockingly for a brief instant as he spoke, before returning to his sides. He took a final bite of his apple, before tossing the core aside. "Nonetheless, I must ask out of duty, where were you, my friend?" Genesis questioned sardonically, his smile more than cruel.

"I thought you did not care, Genesis," Sephiroth said levelly, though the words still came out clipped.

"Oh, I don't. I was simply wondering why a General would just randomly disappear during time of war. It will tarnish your pristine image, I hope you know." Genesis's smile was feral. "I only wished to give my friend some useful advice. It's what friends do, I hear."

Genesis was practically circling him now, a red-gloved hand resting on a shining silver pauldron as Angeal's had earlier, though the action was not meant in comfort, but in warning. He grabbed a lock of silken hair roughly, running his hand down the length before casting it aside violently, with a dark smile.

Sephiroth showed no outward reaction, though he seethed internally. Genesis was out of control. Though Sephiroth saw little of the First, it became more clear with each subsequent encounter that the man's control had whittled to nonexistence. Sephiroth was well beyond the point of tolerating the erratic, hateful behavior.

"Quite frankly, it is none of your concern," Sephiroth said icily. "I can see that talking to you is a useless endeavor if you are unwilling to even extend the guise of civility."

"You broke this long ago," Genesis said, his eyes glinting with something more than just anger. Hurt, pain. It was all open lying before him like a festering wound, revealed from one look.

"You know I never meant for any of this," Sephiroth said, still as emotionless as ever.

"You're nothing but a blank wall. Arrogant, selfish hero pegged as a god. You care for nothing," Genesis said darkly.

"Have it as you will, Genesis," Sephiroth answered curtly.

He turned from Genesis without looking back, not even bothering to say goodbye to him. The confrontation was not something Sephiroth felt like dealing with. Had he known Genesis was in Wutai, he would have pointedly avoided him; Genesis was a walking blackhole of turmoil and resentment. There was no talking to him without belligerence on his part. Argument always ensued. And Sephiroth knew that it was only to him that Genesis directed his fury; the man's friendship with Angeal was still intact, if not a little weathered.

As Sephiroth walked away, Genesis whispered aloud to himself, his tone dark, foreboding: "_My soul, corrupted by vengeance/Hath endured torment to find the end of the journey/In my own salvation/And your eternal slumber...._"

Sephiroth was as good as dead to him.

* * *

**A/N:** Anyone else think that Sephiroth/Genesis pairings are pratically cannon? Now if only Reno/Yazoo was more cannon... *drools* Anyway, there seems to be a vague suggestion of a former relationship between Genesis and Sephiroth in this story, but I'm not telling you if there was. You will just have to wait and see.


	25. Why?

**A/N: **Thanks to: **NicotineGum**,** OvenBased**, **KT**, **Kyuubi-ismy-homie**, **whatevergirl**, **eclipse ze lunachic**, **minoki**, **CaseyAnn'sPrecious**, **Risikaa**, **-CNFB-**, and **Strange and Intoxicating -rsa-** ! You guys can ask all you want about S & G, but I'm not confessing...yet. *grins* As for your questions -CNFB-, Seph is about 22-24 years old (I had to make him young for the timeline) and over 6'. Vincent's about 5'9", but he gets to 6' eventually. No Angeal/Zack in this, unfortunately. Sadly platonic.

* * *

Vincent had walked about a mile down the beach, his soaked black hair flitting in the breeze and drying rather quickly.

He'd found an old shirt and another pair of pants inside a drawer in his room, along with some mangled boots in the closet. Everything was too big, but it all smelled freshly washed, so he did not mind it, simply tucking the shirt in so it wouldn't get in the way as much, and lacing the shoes as tight as they would go.

It was bright, the sun glaring down onto the rock-riddled beach, making Vincent sweat under his long sleeved shirt. He knew he shouldn't stay out long; he could already feel his skin beginning to heat unhealthily.

His body was already feeling tired, which irritated him. He hadn't gone far at all, yet it seemed as though he had been training for hours or something, given all the bizarre aches and the way his shoulders naturally wanted to slump from the strain.

Instead of taking it easy as he knew he should have been, he had already decided to try and at least get in some exercise. He knew he had wasted too much time already, both being in Wutai and from the time in the lab. And if Sephiroth was going to be training him...he certainly didn't need to appear completely weak and defenseless like he had been under the rubble.

He had moved down a gradual slope, closer to the water as it lapped at the rough stones. He was picking his way over larger boulders, leaping at times to reach particular places. The slope eventually turned into an ever rising wall of rock that dropped off abruptly like a cliff, then continued on slanted toward the water. He was at the base of the short cliff, walking quickly alongside it, hands using its unshakable stability as some of the rocks shifted under his slight weight.

A few small pebbles were dislodged as he moved, clattering down into the tight spaces where the larger boulders met. The sound almost covered the strange whoosh and the scattering of smaller stones from up above. The noise could only be heard for a second, but Vincent's improved hearing easily discerned it from the sounds of his own movements.

Maroon eyes narrowed, as he looked upward at the wall that towered above him. He had halted, listening intently for anything out of place.

There was nothing, at first. Vincent swallowed nervously, though his posture became rigid with anticipation and readiness. The ocean was pounding against the rocky shore to his right, sending up powerful waves that dashed over whatever they could reach. He concentrated on drowning out that sound, listening only for that which _didn't_ belong.

It could have been the wind, but it had sounded...different. Vincent did not feel right about it for whatever reason, which is why he continued to keep still, waiting, his breathing nonexistent for the stretching seconds.

Then came the shadow. It passed over him, darkening the place where he was standing, balancing precariously on the bumpy, rough boulders.

He followed the shadow, his eyes moving to the sky almost instantaneously.

It was huge, its wingspan massive. It could easily have picked up a person with its strong talons and heavy build. It was birdlike, covered in bluish and purple feathers that darkened as they went over its expansive back. Vincent stole a glance of its head as it darted through the air above him, its mouth almost a beak, with a long, thin serpentine tongue that lolled out of its mouth, twisting and curling as the wind struck it.

It was a zuu.

Vincent knew enough about monsters to know that zuus were not a kind that in his condition, he would be able to fight. Even had it been otherwise, the creatures were a tough opponent, able to dive at their enemies quickly and accurately with claws that could easily tear through flesh. Vincent had heard stories of children being carried off by them.

The creature had already seen him, he knew. It had turned its head and peered at him just as it had flown over. There was no hiding from it, not unless he wanted to test the razor-like talons.

Vincent was angry with himself. He was virtually defenseless. He was unarmed, his body stiff and sore. He knew he had no option but to try and flee if he could. If he had stayed nearer to the house he likely would not have encountered the problem, or if he had simply listened to Sephiroth's advice and rested his battered body.... He should have known that there would be fiends, especially since the area was so unpopulated. But there was no time to wallow in useless regret.

The monster was already beginning to circle back, its eyes upon him, as Vincent began to jump from stone to stone. His movements were hurried, but he fought to keep them graceful rather than clumsy. He did not need to fall or trip into one of the numerous cracks that were all around him.

He glanced back, realizing that the zuu was already nearly to him. He turned to face it, snatching a stone from the ground with his left hand. He hurtled it a lot harder than he believed himself capable, the stone flying through the air and hitting the zuu directly on the side of its feathered head with an audible thump.

The creature made a strange noise, flailing a little in pain as it flew, though it did not deter its course, its eyes emanating rage, pink tongue hanging from its mouth like a demented banner.

Vincent stood his ground, knowing the creature was too close for him to run without getting swiped with the talons from behind. Just as it descended sharply, Vincent dove to the side, rolling down the unforgiving rocks but thankfully avoiding the gleaming ebony claws.

The creature screamed out in frustration, recovering and moving over to Vincent, its wings flapping irritably. Vincent rolled out of the way again as the black talons reached out for him, but the zuu was fast, easily scrapping a boulder just near Vincent, narrowly missing his torso.

Vincent got to his feet as nimbly as his body was capable in its state, rushing forward. He had already decided to go for the water. He was not an incredibly strong swimmer, but he knew that the bird would have much more trouble getting to him if he was deep under the water's turbulent surface.

He was leaping across the stones dangerously, the zuu having flown around to get at him from a better angle. It may have been able to fly at him quickly, but its one weakness was that it could not make sharp turns without sacrificing its speed. Its overlarge body and oversized wings prevented it.

The Zuu was still too swift, diving down on Vincent from a higher distance, its deadly claws extended maliciously. Vincent could see its shadow as it made its descent, but he was far from the water, and knew he could not make it. The sea seemed to glitter at him teasingly.

He had only one option that seemed plausible. It would hurt, but he had no other choice. He threw himself down the slanted slope, arms over his face protectively, so that he hopefully wouldn't hit his head as badly.

There was a blinding flash that filled the area for a split second, causing Vincent to instinctively shut his eyes from behind his arms. His mind instantly thought 'magic', but he was certain that this particular zuu was incapable of it. He did not have time to think on it, however.

Strong claws had grabbed him before he had even been able to hit the ground, wrapping about him like a hawk's would around a rodent. The monster made a noise that was clearly triumphant, as it latched onto Vincent's body tightly. But the pain Vincent had expected was not there. There was no sharp, horrible stabbing from the claws that should have been pressing into his skin. Something was different, something was so incredibly wrong....

The zuu was struggling to take him to the sky. They were above the height of the wall already, but Vincent's weight seemed to be too much as the bird flapped its wings futilely, both of them slowly moving closer to the rocks beneath them. It screeched in annoyance, Vincent trying not to move for fear of being dropped to the boulders below.

He couldn't even see the creature; it had snatched him from behind. But he could feel its claws wrapped around his torso, and briefly wondered if he was going through shock and perhaps didn't feel them tearing into his insides.

Finally, reluctantly, the bird's talons slowly began to pull away from Vincent's body. Vincent panicked immediately, knowing that the zuu had given up trying to ascend with him in tow. Unceremoniously, the bird completely released Vincent from its grasp, dropping him down toward the rough rock.

Vincent panicked at the feeling of nothing beneath him, his maroon eyes staring at the ground in fear. He only fell for an instant, however, as his wings unexpectedly caught in the draft, extending enough that he was able to recover. They flapped nearly of their own accord, holding him almost levelly, though it all felt awkward. He had only fallen a few feet.

He was Chaos.

The zuu seemed just as confused, not moving in closer, but hovering, its feathers bristling like spines in warning. It didn't like that its opponent had suddenly gained wings.

Vincent looked to his sides at the immense, cruel looking black and maroon wings, then to the clawed, tapered fingers on his left hand. Everything was sharper, to his vision, to the foul scent that radiated off of his attacker. He could smell the ocean as though he were drinking it in, and the tiniest movement of the wind was felt by his new appendages.

How had it happened? Had he done it at will? Vincent was shocked beyond belief, feeling the control over the foreign wings like one would over their arms or legs. He _was_ Chaos. But somehow, he was still himself...he had barely even been able to tell something had taken place....

Vincent stared down at his new body in complete disbelief, seeing the hard carapace that covered over him like an armor, and the strange glowing blue orb imbedded in his chest. It was the Protomateria. It was letting him control Chaos's form....

It took a moment for him to realize that he was in the middle of a fight and didn't have time to wonder over the new ability.

The zuu seemed to have made up its mind, letting out a shriek of challenge. Vincent looked up at it, newly yellowed eyes narrowing, white, predatory teeth bared unconsciously.

The zuu immediately dived toward Vincent, its talons ready to slash him open, regardless of his sudden change.

Even with his clumsy flying skills, Vincent avoided the bird with incredible ease. It seemed to move almost too slow, as though it were barely moving at all. Vincent could sense its direction by the way it turned its body ever so slightly with predictability. If he kept out of the way of the body, he in turn avoided the claws, as the zuu was incapable of extending its legs very far.

Vincent gave a longer beat of his wings, getting adjusted to the way they moved, the way the wind felt as it brushed against them. The zuu came in at him again, not at all unexpectedly. Vincent lazily moving to the side, sending the bird incredibly off course, as it inadvertently hurtled away from him. It had to circle to gain more altitude, as Vincent turned midair, watching its progress with predatory intent.

Vincent was practically hovering. It oddly enough, only took a few wingbeats to keep him steady. Unlike the zuu, he had not only speed, but his lithe, agile frame and longer, less powerful wings allowed him to turn effortlessly.

He was confused, but he knew he had to learn quickly. He had claws, he had wings. It was an even fight now, though from the way Chaos had fought Sephiroth, it was clear that the zuu could have been taken down with a single strike were he more adjusted to the form.

He would have to work with what he was given.

The zuu moved in again, rushing toward him in a flurry of feathers. Vincent had been waiting for the action, knowing that he would strike offensively. Just as it reached out with its iron-like claws expecting to rip into him, Vincent dove beneath with an amazing swiftness. His own taloned fingers slashed upward just as he flew underneath it, shredding through the creature's vulnerable underbelly.

It released a wounded cry, blood already seeping through the thick layer of blueish feathers. The thermals easily caught the flowing red substance, sending it streaking behind the bird then toward the rocky ground.

Vincent was filled with a rush of misplaced pleasure. It swelled inside of him, overwhelming, powerful. It wasn't Vincent's own emotion.... It made his jaw tense, his stomach becoming sickened just as quickly as the pleasure had come.

Chaos was very pleased.

Vincent shook his head defiantly, not liking the feeling in the least. He did not enjoy causing things pain, though apparently Chaos did. He _wouldn't_ feel it, he _couldn't_ feel it, not if he didn't think about it...

The zuu was flying crookedly, though it was still capable of putting up a fight. It showed no sign of retreating, its beady eyes holding pain and the will to harm through whatever means necessary—even death.

Vincent's yellow eyes glowed evilly as he waited for its approach, much as a predator waits for prey to die, elegant wings moving measuredly. Chaos's excitement grew.

Just as he knew it would, the zuu came in for another strike, flying toward his right, the side with the hand without the claws. It made no difference to Vincent, who turned just as the talons and bloody feathers came brushing passed him. His left hand swung outward, digging into the flesh effortlessly. As the creature continued to move away from Vincent, the claws ended up swiping over the entirety of its back, tearing off feathers and leaving a long, deep gash.

It nearly dropped from the sky as it glided forward, wings beating frantically. It was barely keeping aloft, left wing heavily compensating for the right, which was closer to its mortal wound. It was letting out cries of agony, which were raspy, not quite like a bird.

Vincent was amazed at how easy it was. The zuu was in too much pain to even realize that he pursued it.

Vincent flew as quickly as he was able, moving over the top of the monster, his long, graceful wings stretching out and overshadowing it. When their bodies were even, Vincent's hands grabbed it about the neck in a sure grip. He did not rest his body weight on his enemy's back, instead flying separately from the damaged creature. The zuu swayed dangerously, almost too weak to stay in the air, but relentlessly trying to shake the enemy that had latched onto it.

Vincent's deadly claws slashed into the skin of its throat without warning, deep enough that his fingers were instantly surrounded in bloody tissue from all sides. There was a gargled wail from the monster, as Vincent withdrew his claws quickly, extending his wings wider to slow his own speed. It took a moment before released the zuu completely forcing it to keep in the air on its own.

The ascending rock wall was directly ahead of the bird, but it did not stop. It tried in vain to rise above the stones, but did not have the energy to beat its wings hard enough or fast enough. It hit the wall instead.

Like a wounded butterfly, it spiraled toward the ground, crashing into the wall and tumbling at times down the side of the face, its wings rendered utterly useless, broken appendages. It left a smeared trail of blood on the rock before finally landing roughly on the boulders below in a mangled, twitching heap.

Vincent watched it in amazement, unbelieving in a way. He glanced back to his clawed left hand finally, after the zuu had come to rest in the pile of boulders that were to be its grave site. He stared down at the blood-covered fingers. He had killed it, and it had taken only three strikes.

He was keeping himself drifting in the air, his breathing wild. He was feeling a mix of different emotions, but it wasn't long before Chaos's smothered them all. The rush of power and glee washed over him, all consuming.

_Victory_, Chaos seemed to say.

* * *

Sephiroth spent hours reviewing reports and overseeing all the aspects of returning the base to its former state. He had little time to think, constantly being given briefs and being escorted to different buildings to speak with whoever he was required.

Sephiroth had only seen Angeal one other time since he had arrived, and it appeared that he might not have another opportunity to talk to his friend until late into the evening.

Alister had found him not long after his confrontation with Genesis. He had been anxious to hear about Vincent, catching Sephiroth just as he was exiting one of the more damaged structures, stacks of paperwork under his arm.

Alister had seemed very apprehensive about asking after the Third, his voice very quiet, solemn even. The conversation had been curt, almost rudely so on Sephiroth's part, though he had done it to ensure Alister kept his questions to minimum. Alister didn't seem phased by the treatment, simply giving a broad smile at hearing Vincent had lived through the ordeal and would be returning to the SOLDIER program within a month. He had thankfully asked no other questions, though he had made a few comments that interested Sephiroth.

For some reason it did not at all surprise Sephiroth that Vincent had been well liked; it appeared from what Alister had said, that the boy had been more than adequate during his short time as a guard, and that though he didn't talk in excess, he always had something important to say.

It was the approach of a man with a short black ponytail and a serious expression, that caused the nervous Second Class SOLDIER he was speaking to, to stop talking entirely. Apparently damage to an office building was not half so interesting as a Turk.

"Sephiroth," Tseng addressed, ignoring the Second who had given up trying to talk, and was staring at him with a withheld hostility.

"Tseng," Sephiroth returned, voice an even deadly calm.

How convenient that the Turk shows up during the brief time he is in Wutai. It was obvious that either Reno and Rude had talked, or someone had been listening to private phone calls to discover his whereabouts. Either way, it didn't make much difference. Once Tseng wanted information, there was hardly any way to stop him, illegal or otherwise.

"I'm afraid I will have to look at the report later, SOLDIER," Sephiroth said flatly, his green eyes never leaving Tseng's.

"Yes sir," the SOLDIER said, accepting the dismissal. He did not like Turks, particularly their leader. They too often weaseled their way into SOLDIER business. He retreated gratefully, leaving the suited Turk to the General.

"I think we might have things to discuss," Tseng said, equally as placid.

"Do you? I wonder what would give you that impression," Sephiroth answered emotionlessly.

Tseng would play cards to get what he wanted; Sephiroth did not enjoy such games.

He did not hate Tseng, in fact, he had a mild respect for the Turk as far as character was concerned. He was loyal and generally managed to accomplish what needed to be done, however, his line of work often conflicted with Sephiroth's. Though they both worked for Shinra, they had entirely different interests in mind. Tseng would do as the President told him to do, that was where his loyalties were rooted, whereas Sephiroth had no difficulties disputing Shinra's decisions.

Tseng was willing to wait as long as it took before striking; he planned ahead far too well. He was an excellent tactician, and that made him dangerous to Sephiroth.

"Not here," Tseng said.

"Of course."

They moved toward the edge of the base, silent the entire way, though they had to stop several times as Sephiroth was approached with questions or asked to check over something. He declined the majority of enquiries, though did answer some, simply to make a point to Tseng that he was busy and did not have time to go through an entire interrogation as to his whereabouts.

They finally stopped near a burnt, dilapidated building, the scenery around them growing darker as the sun began to set, pulling the brightness from the sky. Tseng had moved in front of him, respectfully keeping his distance, though it was clear he wanted answers. The Turk was well aware that intimidation had no effect on the General, so he intended to keep it as civil as possible.

The line of questioning started without warning: "Why were you at Hojo's lab for such an extended period?"

The dark eyes were prying, as though they could find the answers in the blank, black slits and sea green. Tseng's look was not threatening, but it was intrusive in its own right.

"Injections, as I am sure you are aware," Sephiroth stated.

He wasn't sure how much the Turk knew. What he didn't know could work toward Sephiroth's advantage. Though he would probably have to speak about Vincent, there were many excuses that could be made to negate interest in the boy, were the subject to come up.

The phone call had been a mistake. He shouldn't have contacted Angeal, or said as much as he had. Though he had expected the Turks to talk, he knew it would have been wiser to avoid contact by cell phone, on the off chance that they found no reason to tell Tseng. In retrospect, however, there had never been much opportunity of someone _not_ finding out about Vincent; there were too many loose ends, and keeping the boy from the base would attract attention anyway. It was an unfortunate turn of events, but as far as he could tell, virtually inevitable given his own mistakes.

"You left in the middle of a war. Hojo, from what I have gathered, is dead. Though that doesn't bother me much, I still need to know why," Tseng said calmly.

Sephiroth did not find Tseng's knowledge about Hojo's death to be the least bit surprising. The Turk had a way being involved with everything. Outwardly, he appeared to work for all sides, but his loyalty to Shinra ran deep; he did what he was told, as Sephiroth himself was often forced to do.

"I grew tired of him," Sephiroth answered simply, not concerned with whether or not the explanation was an entirely convincing one.

"Years of seeking him out privately, and suddenly you kill him for no apparent reason? I find that difficult to believe," Tseng stated. There was a glint of suspicion in his dark eyes.

"It makes no difference to me whether or not you find it credible or believable. You will either take what I've told you, or not."

Tseng gave a nod of acquiescence. "Fair enough," he said. Sephiroth was quickly losing patience, that much was obvious. "Why were you gone so long?"

"If I am not mistaken, I believe we already covered this question," Sephiroth answered rudely, his tone as cold as ever.

He was irritated that President Shinra seemed to believe it was appropriate to send one of his Turks to get answers out of him. The President wanted to know far too much for Sephiroth's tastes.

"It takes a day to get an injection, two at the most—"

"I see you have been watching closely," Sephiroth interrupted. "As I have said, injections. There were unforseen side effects from the last round of treatment, therefore I returned to Hojo early." Sephiroth would have looked murderous, but he managed to keep his emotions to himself, even quelling the urge to come off sounding mocking. "Is there anything else you need to know?"

"What kind of side effects?" Tseng questioned, watching Sephiroth with a gauging look.

"I believe that is personal," Sephiroth replied dismissively.

"Of course."

The General had always been a difficult adversary; Tseng hadn't expected any of it to go over smoothly or even produce anything fruitful. He had come to Wutai upon the President's request, not by choice. He knew most of it was futile, though he would still do as much as he was able to get at any useful information. He knew that once Sephiroth gave an answer it would be the only one he would get; it was best to keep things short and as...polite as possible.

"Just tell me one thing," Tseng said changing his tactic while keeping his tone businesslike, "Why did you save him?"

Sephiroth's mind worked quickly, running over available options. "Who?"

"The Third, Private Vincent Valentine," Tseng replied, still looking calm, though Sephiroth could easily feel the man's change in mood. The Turk knew he had struck a nerve.

So Tseng did know about Vincent. The Turk had attempted to catch him after several mundane questions. Sephiroth's respect for the Turk's intelligence grew, however, his plan of attack was inconsequential, as Sephiroth had already well-prepared himself.

"He is a promising SOLDIER," Sephiroth answered.

"So you have taken personal interest in him?" Tseng enquired, knowing that the question was quite risky.

Yes, he had taken a person interest in Vincent Valentine.

"Private Valentine is an accomplished marksman, quite useful to the program. He had also been receiving tutoring from Angeal. So in that sense, yes, I was personally involved if you would like to refer to it that way," Sephiroth responded tonelessly.

"You felt he needed to be taken to Hojo to be treated for his wounds?"

"It was either that or let him die," Sephiroth stated matter-of-factly.

"Many died, why save this one SOLDIER?" Tseng questioned, knowing he was getting closer.

"I see you enjoy rewording the same questions. Do not, however, expect a different answer."

Tseng gave a curt nod, taking a different course: "Private Valentine has not been returned to base. Why is that?"

Sephiroth smiled internally. Clever Turk. If he said that Vincent was at the hospital, he would ask, 'which one', and if he claimed the boy to be somewhere else, the Tseng would quickly check up on it. It was clear that Tseng already knew Sephiroth had taken Vincent somewhere, he was simply trying to trap the General in a web of lies.

"He is recovering," Sephiroth answered, purposefully avoiding saying where.

"Where is he recovering?"

Sephiroth withheld an irritated sigh. "Private Valentine is safe, I will be watching over him. Otherwise, it is none of your concern, nor Shinra's. He will be back to base within a few weeks."

Tseng's look became much more interested. "Why is he not recovering on base?"

The Turk had a way of moving in closer and closer, without giving too much warning. It was a skill that Sephiroth would have admired was it not being implemented upon him.

"That is a personal matter, but since you seem to find it necessary to delve into every aspect of my life, if you must know, I made a mistake, he suffered for it. As payment, I gave him back his life by taking him to the one person who would be able to save him. Now I am ensuring that when he does return, he may continue from where he left off. That is all," Sephiroth said shortly, his green eyes penetrating. It was as though he was daring Tseng to dispute his answer or ask more questions.

Tseng gave a nod of understanding, already drawing his own conclusions. Unfortunately for him, Sephiroth was already turning away, dismissing the conversation without a word.

Tseng moved to the General's side, matching his long, elegant stride without much effort. "You killed Hojo because of the Third," he concluded aloud, upon a whim.

It was the only answer that made sense; Hojo and his lab assistant were dead, along with a lower ranked member of SOLDIER, Johns, if he recalled. Sephiroth had never had reason before to kill the scientist, and had in fact coexisted with him for quite an extended period, both in a rather symbiotic relationship, with Sephiroth getting treatments and evaluations, while Hojo had the opportunity to experiment on one of the best.

The other assistant, Renault, had been scared out of speaking. Even under interrogation, he had babbled on, only admitting that Sephiroth and the Third had been there, but not what happened.

The way both Hojo and the assistant had been killed did not appear to be the result of Sephiroth, who preferred the sword. However, after the fiasco they had found in one of the lab rooms, it could only direct them to Sephiroth. Few were capable of such damaging magic attacks. Not only that but the cell phone conversation and the tracking device implanted inside of it could not lie.

Sephiroth had been at the labs, and he had admitted to having the Third with him while speaking with Angeal Hewley. There was also a witness who had claimed to have seen the General leaving Wutai in a helicopter with a boy his arms. Tseng had yet to find out who the pilots were, though he had his ideas.

Sephiroth had been angry when he had murdered Hojo and the assistant; for why would he refrain from using his favorite method in favor of a death with more suffering? Tseng suspected a dispute over the Third, though he could not yet prove anything.

All of the security footage had been missing, the cameras running without recording, the internal hub destroyed. It was clear that Sephiroth was covering up something, and he didn't seem to care much whether or not they knew he was, he seemed more concerned with keeping the secret itself, which he could unfortunately do, at least for the time being.

"Hardly. I would have killed him anyway. He suggested experimentation, I suggested death. He went over the line. It was a clean cut as that," Sephiroth stated, moving toward one of the buildings where the majority of the SOLDIERs were being housed.

"Thank you for your cooperation," Tseng said abruptly, stopping in the doorway as the General made his way inside.

"Yes," Sephiroth responded offhandedly, giving an inclination of his head to make it clear that he had heard.

Tseng had what he had come for, at least partially Sephiroth knew. It would keep the questions at bay for awhile. Avoiding Tseng would have only worsened matters, and caused more trouble over all than there already was.

It mattered little that they knew he had taken Vincent with him; there was nothing they would or could do about it. As long as they knew nothing about the experimentation, all was well. Even were they to find out, he would keep them from barring Vincent from SOLDIER or furthering his experimentation. There were likely ways to hide the extensiveness of Vincent's condition, were there the side effects that Sephiroth expected. There were options, either way. Preferably, however, it was best that Shinra knew nothing of what damage Hojo had caused...or that he himself had caused.

Sephiroth was still trying to discern his own intentions. What was troubling was that had it been anyone else, he knew he would not have gone to the trouble. He would have let the SOLDIER die. But he had chosen to save Vincent, fully aware of the consequences.... Fully against every firm piece of logic.

The boy had gotten to him, and he didn't like it.

* * *

**A/N:** It took me about 12 hours to do this chapter (took two days), not sure why. But we loom ever closer to the Seph/Vinc-ness!


	26. Reluctant Acceptance

**A/N:**My reviewers! Such lovely people.... I get all stupidly excited checking my email :D Thanks to: KT, NicotineGum, whatevergirl, tokidokilove, kiralover44, Red-Planet31, CaseyAnn'sPrecious, -CNFB-, ghost of gene rayburn, minoki, and OvenBased! Well, tokidokilove, in this story Vincent is only really influenced by Chaos---the other forms are much less dominant. As for Chaos,-CNFB-, its more of a magical transformation, no pain. I try to explain it a bit in this chapter. Anyway, I'm thrilled that you are all liking it :D Makes all the hours spent on it more than worth it.

* * *

It was several hours before Sephiroth was able to get a small amount of time to himself. He had managed to get a hold of a non-company cell phone, which he would use until he was able to obtain a new one. He would get one for Vincent as well, so that when he did leave for brief periods, Vincent would be able to contact him or anyone else were something to happen.

Sephiroth was leaning back in a fold out black canvas chair, uninterested in the stacks of papers in front of him on the round, makeshift desk. There were several other things he needed to do, preferably before he left Wutai.

He opened the cell phone, deftly punching in the numbers before holding it against his ear. It was late, sunset already long forgotten, leaving behind an encompassing inky black darkness. Moonlight penetrated through it, however, and had already begun to filter in through the canvas flap of the tent, leaving a small rebellious beam across the dirt floor.

Two rings, then there was an answer from the other end. "Yes?" The voice was distinctively old, having a tainted quality to it that Sephiroth had always found intriguing.

"Raiden," he said simply, watching the canvas doorway twist slightly in the nighttime breeze.

There was the sound of a scoff, though it wasn't an irritated one. "I was wondering when you would be calling," the old man said, coughing, not bothering to move the phone from his mouth.

The noise was loud enough to make someone flinch, though Sephiroth showed no response. Raiden had been very ill the last several months, nearly bedridden. They had spoken little, not since before the summer, but they had a mutual respect for one another that made time rather inconsequential. They picked up their conversation as though they had spoken only the day previous.

"What will be interesting you? There hasn't been any damage, has there?" Raiden enquired gruffly.

"No, nothing like that," Sephiroth assured him. "I do have something...special in mind, however."

"Something very specific?"

"Let's just say it caters to your more secretive interests. I think you will enjoy it," Sephiroth commented, crossing his booted feet underneath the table.

"Sounds good," Raiden answered, going into another coughing fit, though this time he pulled the phone away to muffle the noise.

Sephiroth smiled bitterly to the semi darkness, wondering if he was only making more mistakes. Yes, it probably was a mistake, but for some reason the thought didn't bother him as it probably should have.

He wanted to do it.

* * *

Vincent had made his way back to the house hours ago.

It was dark, the ocean back to its obsidian-like surface of shining ebony. He had retreated from the beach immediately after the demise of the zuu, no longer feeling comfortable out in the open now that he knew there were in fact monsters inhabiting the area. More than anything though, he had needed to get back into the house to think.

It had been strange. He had flown back to the rocks once the zuu had fallen. Once his feet had touched the ground, there had been a flash of reddish light, surrounding him like an evil fog. It had grown ever brighter for the briefest of seconds, before imploding outwards, sending pebbles skittering into fissures and disturbing a small puff of dust from the larger boulders that were rarely exposed to the ocean water. The red faded away entirely after only an instant. He had fallen to his knees on the rough rocks, his hands bracing him as he tried to catch his breath.

Human hands. His small, weak hands were once again his own, clawless and almost childlike against the black rocks he was staring down at. He looked at them in amazement, examining them closely for differences that were no longer there. When he looked down to his body he was himself again, his clothes there in place of the almost shell-like armor that had covered over him protectively while he had been Chaos.

He knew he was going to be badly bruised. Though the transformation hadn't hurt, rolling over the rocks had, and he had scrapes everywhere, especially on his arms and legs. He had yet to look at them, but knew that there would be quite a few from the way everything was stinging.

But it hadn't hurt; in fact he had barely noticed the transformation at all.... It was clear that becoming Chaos was much like performing a spell. Vincent wondered whether or not like a spell, it would wear off, or was limited. He hadn't felt any changes or been given any warning, but when he had landed he had changed back into himself.

Vincent didn't think he had caused it; he had not thought about changing back, but then again, he wasn't entirely sure how it worked in the first place. Had he simply no longer been able to sustain the form?

He was beginning to think he had changed only because there was danger. What he needed to do was consciously _try_ to transform.... That was the only way he would know. He had been considering trying, but had talked himself out of it more than once, not certain he wanted to be Chaos.

Vincent was sitting on the black, velveteen sofa, watching the flames lick at the wood and extend upward toward the opening that led to the chimney. Though it wasn't that cold, Vincent had started a fire anyway, and sat quietly observing the wood burn down to ash.

Chaos. All of it seemed unreal, pure fantasy, though Vincent had seen enough to know that it had in fact, been reality. What was surprising was that he had control. He had been sure that Chaos would be suppressed, forced dormant, and that if it did somehow take control, that he would be completely helpless to it. Though, he thought wryly, that was still a possibility even now. He knew so little of it to begin with.

But if he could control it like he had...well, it would definitely be useful.

Vincent got up from the couch, crimson eyes still locked onto the fire. He took a deep, breath, frowning in concentration.

The only thing he thought was, _Chaos_. He pictured the bat-like wings, the talons on his left hand, the ethereal light that emanated off of the orb of blue materia.... The feeling of flight, of claws digging into skin...blood....

There was the flash that came almost unexpectedly, every shade of red that seemed to reflect off the glass of the nearby window and the lanterns displayed on the wood mantle. It was overwhelming, almost like a miniature explosion of light that was strong enough to make the pictures on the wall shake.

Then it stopped, all signs of the blast evaporating completely. It took Vincent a moment to recover.

Vincent felt different. He was suddenly aware that for the second time that day, there were wings jutting out from his back, carefully folded inward, keeping them from damaging the furniture. He looked down at his body, which was covered in the black armor-like skin yet again. He had done it. It had worked.

He couldn't help but stare down at the body in surprise; it was so foreign. It wasn't too much bigger than his own, though there was somewhat of a difference. The body felt much sturdier, and was even more muscular than his own.

Vincent walked into the kitchen, his footsteps completely soundless. Everything about Chaos was preternatural, from his vision to the way he moved. Vincent was unaccustomed to the body, but it had a natural ease of movement that was much swifter than his own. Chaos was designed to be deadly.

Vincent made his way down the hall, having to fold his wings in even closer to make it between the narrow walls. He opened the door with his right hand, which was much more human like. It lacked the claws of his left, though unlike his normal hands, it was much bigger and felt like it could break just about anything with a small amount of pressure.

Once in his room, he went straight for the bathroom, though his footsteps were slow, anticipatory. He switched on the light as he walked onto the plush rug in front of the shower, not entirely sure he wanted to know what he would see.

It wasn't without some deep, hidden fear, that he tilted his head upward and faced his own reflection.

He let out a gasp instantly, backing away from the sink, and hitting the shower door none to gently. His hands went to his face, touching the strange thing in the mirror.

No. It wasn't him. It couldn't be. He could feel the panic rising in his chest. Vincent turned, wanting to leave the reflection behind, but he stopped as he made it to the doorway. He had to face it; what good would running away do?

He looked over his shoulder, back to the mirror, the SOLDIER in him raging at his own cowardice.

Monster.

That was the only word sufficient to describe the thing that was looking back at him with evil, gleaming yellow eyes. They did not seem to be eyes at all, but light shining outward from somewhere inside. Like a jack-o-lantern with a burning candle inside.

It was, beyond all doubt, a monster. Sephiroth had made him a monster.

Vincent shook his head, trying not to think about it, but the thing that kept looking back at him was unavoidable. He curled his left hand, watching as the beast in the mirror copied his movements flawlessly.

His hand went to the crest that had sprouted from his head, a deep red lined with hints of black. His hair had all but disappeared, replaced with long black tendrils that were stiff and jagged looking, descending from the crest. The red coloring extended down part of his chest, mostly just the pectoral muscles, before stopping a short ways down his sides. The bright Protomateria was buried in the left side of his chest, surprisingly large, and glowing enough that it reflected back at him from the mirror.

This was what he was condemned to be?

Chaos seemed to react to that thought, sending a burning through his chest that made him suck in a breath. It had a mind of its own, and though it was not in control, it could still influence Vincent in small ways if it so chose.

Vincent took the pain as a warning, and tried to change the direction of his thoughts.

Chaos was larger, more developed. Vincent doubted he would ever be as broad as Chaos, who wasn't in fact that broad at all, though in comparison to Vincent's narrow frame, he seemed huge.

Was it a he? It seemed much more sexless, though referring to it as 'he', was comforting, as it made the creature sound much more human and less....

Less like a monster.

Vincent suddenly didn't want to remain Chaos. He knew that he would have to learn how to use the form and would need to spend time in it in order for it to become routine, but he was simply not ready to do it yet. He knew what he was, what Chaos was, but he wasn't quite ready to embrace it like he knew he would have to in the future. It would be valuable, but Vincent didn't want to face the fact that it was a part of himself, likely for the rest of his life.

With a single mental command, he covered his face as the familiar explosion of light filled the small bathroom. It sent a small shockwave, which caused all of the loose items in the room to rattle.

He stood still, looking down at the rug and noticing that he was in pants. When he looked back into the mirror finally, he was himself again. Black hair framed his face, a bit passed his chin, and his eyes were back to their abnormal maroon coloring. They no longer looked like lifeless cutouts.

Vincent was angry, that was undeniable. He was angry that he was going to be trapped with a monster inside, and who knows what else, but most of all, he wanted to hate Sephiroth for being the one who allowed it to happen.

Vincent walked into the bedroom after tearing his gaze from the mirror. He tried to fight his emotions over it, the fury that was beginning to rise from somewhere dark and hidden. He sat down on the edge of the bed, trying to keep his breathing even, though he had the peculiar urge to hurt something, anything.

Would he rather be dead?

No. But he didn't want to be that thing. That thing that _liked_ to kill, that spurred him on as he slashed through flesh, spilling forth blood like a grotesque fountain. It _wanted_ that. It found pleasure in bringing death, in harming things. It was sadistic and ruthless, completely against everything Vincent believed in. It would kill indiscriminately, something he refused to do.

Yes, Sephiroth had caused it. Vincent did want to despise him, to hate him if it would take away all the other ridiculous feelings, and it if it would make anything better.... But it wouldn't. Sephiroth had tried to save him, had succeeded, though the price was so much to pay. Really, it was Hojo. Hojo had been the one who had wanted to experiment, not Sephiroth. Sephiroth would have done everything in his power to try and stop him. He had killed the scientist upon Vincent's word to prove that.

Vincent wasn't sure what to think anymore. He knew he had valid reasons to be angry with Sephiroth, but hate him? It was clear that Sephiroth was trying to atone. Vincent could not ignore that fact.

He sighed, keeping himself still to quell the rage that had been so intense only seconds before.

If he expected to get anywhere, he needed to start training as Chaos whenever he had the opportunity. There was no changing anything now, it was done with. He needed to learn to live with the consequences.

* * *

Zack Fair came walking into the tent unannounced, pushing the canvas aside and letting in a muggy nighttime breeze for a short moment. He only walked in a few steps, stopping a ways from Sephiroth and his piles of paperwork. He didn't wait to speak, too impatient to keep to himself.

"Uh, Sephiroth? Can I talk to you for a minute?" Zack asked, pushing aside the black bangs that kept moving over his face. Zack shuffled his feet a bit, not entirely comfortable. Sephiroth seemed to have that effect on people.

Sephiroth stopped writing, his eyes moving from the paperwork to Zack's face. He leaned more comfortably in his chair, an arm strewn over the table in front of him.

"Yes?" he said quietly.

Zack approached the desk, giving a small smile. "Well, I was wondering how Vincent was doing. Angeal didn't really tell me much...."

Sephiroth took a moment before answering, his emerald eyes watching Zack. "He's well enough." There was a pause for a second. When Zack looked disappointed, Sephiroth elaborated: "There shouldn't be too many side effects from his injuries, if any at all."

Zack nodded. He bit his lip, looking as though he wanted to say something else, though he remained silent.

When it became clear that the teen couldn't quite decide, Sephiroth made the choice for him. "What is it, Zack?" Sephiroth questioned, allowing himself a tone of concern.

Zack stared back at him, clenching his hands in nervousness. He looked to the floor, letting out an audible sigh. He felt stupid for saying it, but he knew he needed to.

"Thanks," he said in a near whisper. "You know, for saving Vincent. I mean, I don't know him all that well, but he seems like a good kid. We're kind of friends," Zack finished lamely, feeling a little weird about talking to the General so candidly. It was hard to imagine Sephiroth as anything but cold and distant, though he knew from what Angeal had told him, that there was a lot more going on beneath the surface.

Sephiroth smiled slightly, his eyes on Zack. Zack took the expression as a reassuring answer and grinned in that characteristic way of his.

"You know, you aren't at all what people say you are," Zack confessed, running a hand through his hair sheepishly.

"No, I suppose I'm not," Sephiroth agreed.

There was more meaning behind those words than he was currently willing to admit to himself.


	27. The Best

**A/N:** Thanks to my lovely reviewers: **SapphireMateria**, **NicotineGum**, **Gwaerwen**, **kiralover44**, **whatevergirl**, **minoki**, **markim**, **Kyuubi-ismy-homie**, **Risikaa**, **simply anonymous**, **-CNFB-, eclipse ze lunachic**, **CaseyAnn'sPrecious**, and **KT **! As for your question, **markim**, I'd say that Vincent's a bit bitter, and Chaos probably isn't helping (he is kind of an angry one...)---a combination of the two. Cloud? I'm not sure **-CNFB-**, he's probably...15? As for Seph's phone, **eclipse ze lunachic**, he only kept it because he was required to keep it (Shinra phone), and before he had never really had reason to care that his phone was being bugged, as everyone else's were as well. Nosey Turks.

* * *

Sephiroth had only slept for a few hours when he appeared in the nearly empty cafeteria early in the morning. Though there was food laid out in metal containers, Sephiroth bypassed it, grabbing a styrofoam cup and filling it with plain black coffee. He would be leaving in under an hour and go by helicopter to Banora.

The few SOLDIERs present in the gloomy, low lit room tried to watch him inconspicuously as he placed a few non-perishables on a napkin and brought them, along with his coffee, to a vacant, banged up table.

He took a long drink of the coffee, ignoring the bitter taste, as he intently gazed out of the propped open doors of the cafeteria. SOLDIERs went by from time to time, all walking quickly with somewhere to go. His quiet reverie didn't go on very long, however, as a redhead appeared and made his way up the stone steps.

Reno smiled arrogantly as he sauntered in, surveying the few sparsely placed SOLDIERs. His tie was barely done at all, seeming to be tied together with a normal knot somewhere down the middle, while his shirt was half hanging out of his dress pants. He went passed Sephiroth's table, giving a lazy wave, before moving toward the back where all of the breakfast foods had been set up. Sephiroth only inclined his head in response, taking another drink, knowing it was his last that he would be taking alone. Reno had a habit of inviting himself, completely oblivious (or uncaring, Sephiroth reasoned) of whether or not he was interrupting something.

After a good minute of piling food onto a plate, Reno came back carrying a stack of eggs, pancakes, hashbrowns and meats. He raised his eyebrows a couple of times as he stood near Sephiroth. "I'm gonna sit with you," he announced.

With no further greeting, he pulled up a seat from a nearby table, scraping it loudly across the floor. A few of the nearby patrons looked amazed that the Turk thought it was safe to approach the General that way, and blatantly stared at the spectacle. Sephiroth made no move to stop him, and gave no indication of displeasure, looking unreadable as always.

Reno sat down loudly, plopping down the plate he had been holding and snatching up his plastic utensils. "Whatcha doin'?" Reno questioned, his grin somewhat forced. He was somewhat worried.

Sephiroth shook his head almost indiscernibly, returning his attention to some of the packaged food he had in front of him.

"Well I had to come make amends or whatever," Reno said by way of explanation. He had discarded the utensils for the moment, wrapping up a few slices of bacon in a pancake instead. "I don't need you killin' me in my sleep or something. It was all Tseng. Rude was all stoical and shit, but you know how Tseng is. Reads into long silences and stuff." He took an overlarge bite from the pancake, smiling through his full mouth. "We only talked to him this morning. Not sure if you heard yet or anything," Reno finished, finally swallowing down the cottony pancakes, though a few crumbs had flown from his mouth, landing on the tabletop. It was clear that table manners had never been one of his priorities.

"I don't expect you to have loyalties to me," Sephiroth said quietly, taking another drink of his coffee.

"You mean you're not pissed?" Reno asked, picking up a bit of scrambled egg with his fork, looking incredulous as he quickly scarfed it down.

"No," Sephiroth answered tonelessly.

It didn't matter; Tseng had already known enough. He would have found it all out sooner or later, Sephiroth knew, mainly because it had involved his Turks. He hadn't expected Reno or Rude to conceal anything for him, even if he had asked.

"Ha. Cool," Reno commented, drinking down some scorching coffee a bit too fast. He grimaced at the bitter, strong flavor, then frowned at the cup. His worries seemed to have evaporated in mere seconds. "Must of been sitting there awhile."

"That food was there since yesterday," Sephiroth said offhandedly, taking a small bite of some sort of sugary energy bar.

"Oh," Reno said, frowning down at his plate. "I was wondering why those eggs were sorta rubbery."

* * *

The helicopter ride seemed shorter than it should have been, but Sephiroth had been deep in thought, watching the ocean water transform into picturesque landscape. The day wasn't as sunny as the last few had been, becoming a little cloudy as they neared Banora.

Sephiroth did not like frequenting the town, as it was both Angeal and Genesis's birthplace, and everyone there knew him easily upon site. Word traveled quickly, something he was determined to avoid on this particular visit.

Fortunately, Raiden's home was outside of Banora, not far, but far enough. Though it was somewhat unusual for helicopters to come to the town, he knew that having Reno and Rude milling around provided ample excuse. It was common knowledge that the Turks were always up to something; they appeared everywhere.

Rude had been more apologetic that Reno, even venturing to tell him he was sorry. It had apparently troubled the Turk that Tseng might have found things out about Vincent on their account. It was strange, Sephiroth thought, how people seemed to be naturally protective of the boy.

They finally landed in the tree ensconced area, the green leaves and branches swaying from the wind created by the swirling helicopter blades.

He had not informed Reno and Rude of why he had asked to be taken to Banora, but knew they would not question him. It also mattered little if they told Tseng where he was been taken; they knew nothing of Raiden, and even if they did, Sephiroth's presence could easily be explained.

Dirt was sent out in wayward, rolling puffs, even as the blades began to wind down, their overbearing sound turned to a dull whirring.

Reno rubbed his hands together. "I'm getting good at not crashing thing, don't you think?" he said, talking to Rude.

Rude only shook his head, unbuckling and heading for the back. Sephiroth had already made his way out of the helicopter, his flowing silver hair getting mussed by the breeze caused by the revolving helicopter blades. He carried a large black duffel in his hand, one that Reno had looked over curiously when they had first taken off.

"So uh, how long you want us to wait, yo?" Reno asked, leaning against the doorway.

"I will be gone for several hours," Sephiroth answered. He had started to walk away, but stopped, black coat flapping against his boots from the abruptness of the movement. He looked over his shoulder. "Keep him busy," he instructed, locking eyes with the ones behind black sunglasses.

Rude let out a low laugh and nodded, as the General turned away.

"What!? I'm not a little kiddie! I don't need him to babysit me!" Reno argued, looking scandalized at the General's retreating back.

Rude let out a loud breath. "I'm sure," he muttered, moving back inside the helicopter.

* * *

Raiden Adalbrecht had lived in Banora since birth, and was well known as a shaman of sorts. It was, however, his vast knowledge of weaponry and skill for bladesmithing that had started his acquaintance with Sephiroth.

Raiden had repaired Masamune on one occasion, replacing the ray skin which had been damaged by magic. Though Sephiroth could have performed the task himself if needed, the old man had shown a keen interest in the sword, offering to redo the coverings free of charge.

The money hadn't been the issue; it had been more of a mutual agreement. Sephiroth was interested in the older war stories that had been passed down to Raiden, as well in the process of sword making. Raiden himself had been intrigued by SOLDIER, as well as the General, because he considered him to be a modern form of the samurai.

They met only a few times a year, but spoke easily. Raiden appreciated Sephiroth's quietness as well as his intentness; patience was something that seemed to have evaded the newer generations. Sephiroth, he considered to be much more akin to his own generation, where knowledge was more important than anything monetary, and living with honor far surpassed any unhappiness that could be a product of it.

Raiden was a well known bladesmith, but only in certain circles. He had been trained in the old way, shunning the new techniques being implemented by newer bladesmiths. He did not advertise his blades, nor did he sell them, instead personally choosing who they were given to. He only made money on the side by repairing blades, and even in that enterprise he was very choosy.

What was known by even fewer, was that Raiden's specialty was not with blades. Though he was considered one of the best blade makers still living, he had a modern interest that he did not like to openly admit to.

Guns. Raiden was fascinated by guns. From long range sniper rifles, to pistols that were small enough to tuck into a boot, Raiden produced them. He had sold only two guns in his entire 80 years of life, far too obsessed with keeping them secret and ensuring that they only went to the worthiest of people. Where his house was a tribute to the blade, his basement was a hidden shrine to the gun.

Sephiroth was standing on the intricate oriental rug, his green eyes catching on the smooth, balanced weapons that were displayed throughout the room. Many of them were ancient blades, so old that the ray skin that ornamented their handles was lightened in color and thin looking. But the blades themselves gleamed wickedly from behind their protective glass cases, still kept as sharp as the day they had been forged.

Small glass vials containing a yellowish substance, were lined in the center of an old table, waiting to be used. It was a special mix of oils, containing a small amount of oil of cloves, Sephiroth knew. He used it to clean Masamune, always buying his stock from Raiden, who even produced the oils by extracting them directly from the ingredients himself.

Raiden was a recluse; he knew all about everyone in the town, but they knew virtually nothing of him. He occasionally went to Banora during the yearly festivals, where he would tell a few of the stories he had been taught. But he did not like people, he much preferred the blade. His misanthropic views had long made him a bit of a villain as far as the people of Banora were concerned, but he did not seem to mind the personification in the least. It kept people from venturing near his home. They knew him as the bitter old man, not as the legendary sword maker.

Raiden appeared from a back room, carrying something wrapped in black suede.

Overall, he was short, almost petite. Standing next to Sephiroth he appeared almost childlike in stature and build. His greyed beard went midway down his small chest, unkempt looking, as though he never tended to it. His hair was a frizzed mess, matted and somewhat long, and not cut in any particular way, with shorter pieces in some places and longer locks in others. His face was unremarkable, though he had the distinctive ruddy hue on the tip of his nose and powdered over his cheeks, one of the many signs of his drinking habit. The face was wrinkled, looking like aged, crinkled parchment, the permanent frown lines giving him a serious---or some might argue---angry expression.

But it was the eyes that held something else entirely. Timeless. They were dark in color, matching his natural olive complection, but something about the way the light shined off the pupils, the way they did not have the yellowed whites that often accompanied old age.... It made them seem young in comparison, intelligent and quick still, though wise beyond comprehension.

"I finished it just an hour ago," Raiden stated, setting the package gently onto the counter.

His old, shriveled hands were distinctly marked by arthritis, the fingers skewed at the joints, looking bulky and deformed. Though they were clearly painful, the old man paid them no attention as he slowly pulled back the protective wrapping.

It was a golden gauntlet. The metal gleamed under the dim lights, looking deadly, but beautiful. It would extend from hand to elbow when worn, with an artificial joint at the end to allow for ease of movement. The construction was amazing, each tip of the fingers perfectly tapered without a dimple to reveal its humble beginnings. They were like perfect claws, the talons of an eagle even, with several digits to make regular finger movement possible.

Sephiroth allowed himself a genuine smile, as he looked over at Raiden. "It's perfect," he said simply.

Raiden only nodded, though he was clearly pleased that Sephiroth appreciated the craftsmanship.

"It shouldn't be too tight as far as movement," he said in his gruff voice, picking up the gauntlet with care. He flexed the fingers easily, curling them into a fist. "It will work like a regular arm when slipped on, just be much sturdier, and of course, much more brutal," Raiden added with a crooked half smile.

"May I?"

Raiden gave a nod toward it, his form of permission.

Sephiroth removed his gloves first, peeling them from his skin and storing them in his pockets. Out of consideration, he went to the large open sink a few feet away, washing his hands first to keep the oils from tainting the metal. In the end, the gauntlet would be exposed to the elements, but he preferred that it be in excellent condition before he gave it to Vincent.

Walking back, he slowly pulled it from its suede covering, bringing it close to him to better examine it.

It was as perfect as the blades Raiden made, balanced and constructed with the upmost of care. It wasn't as heavy as he had expected, though when he moved the tapered fingers, it was clearly very strong and durable. The claws were as sharp as an sword, easily nicking Sephiroth's skin as his fingers moved over it reverently, purposefully.

Raiden had already produced a small square of material from his pocket, drenched in the special oil mixture. Sephiroth took it without question, cleaning the metal throughly.

"It is not for you," Raiden commented, his dark eyes looking to the gauntlet.

"No it is not," Sephiroth said. He paused for a moment, choosing his words. "You knew, yet you still made it," he stated, watching Raiden intently, searching for the answer in the numerous lines of the old man's face and the penetrating dark eyes.

"I trust your judgement, though I'd be very interested in hearing who all of this is for."

Sephiroth let out an audible sigh, one that almost sounded disbelieving, though it was not because of Raiden. He was back to examining the gauntlet. "A Third, surprisingly," he answered.

Raiden raised a puffy greyed eyebrow. "He must be very special indeed for you to go to this trouble."

Sephiroth glanced up, his eyes going from cold to serious."He will be the best," Sephiroth said confidently, sea green eyes staring into Raiden's.

The old man only nodded, finding no reason to dispute the General's statement. Sephiroth's words could never be taken lightly. He would never say something he did not mean or believe in, particularly when it came to skill. Raiden was interested to learn about this Third that the man had gone to such extensive measures for....

"And he does not use the sword..." Raiden concluded.

"No," Sephiroth agreed. "He killed several in the recent battle in Wutai. Probably twenty, if not more," he said, recalling all the bodies he had found with gaping holes through their torsos or arms blown off. "It was an unexpected attack, and his first mission," he said with a hidden smile.

"Hmm," Raiden murmured with another nod. "He may just be the best candidate for what I've been working on...."

The old man moved away, long robes dragging over the carpet, as he went over to the hidden hatch. There was a rug that he usually used to cover over it, but he hadn't bothered since it was Sephiroth who he knew would be visiting. The General had already seen the basement, which Raiden had never shown to anyone.

"Come," he said, gesturing to the hatch he had flung open.

Sephiroth placed the gauntlet carefully on the table, wrapping the suede back over it, before following the old man down into the darker parts of the house.

The passage was dark at first, but Raiden switched on several lights, which quickly illuminated everything. The concrete stairs went a short ways, covered in another oriental-styled rug that ended a few feet after the steps did.

The room they entered was wide and open, unlike the cluttered space on the upper floor. The basement was actually separated into two areas, a wall dividing them. The other side, Sephiroth knew, which had to be accessed from a different trapdoor, was where Raiden's forge was located. The area they were in was stuffier, as it did not have the ventilation that the forge room had.

Guns were displayed all around, though there were not half so many as one would expect of an avid collector. Raiden was even more choosier when it came to his guns; he liked very original designs, namely modified weapons of his own creation, most often.

Some of them looked too advanced to be real, while others seemed simple upon appearance, but were in fact frighteningly deadly weapons.

Raiden moved to one of his display tables and pulled out a drawer with a glass case covering, where a small gun case rested underneath. He removed the glass panel, as Sephiroth's gaze explored all of the peculiar weapons that surrounded them.

Sephiroth took a few steps closer, observing intently, as a gun was revealed from inside the case. Raiden carefully extracted it from the protective foam, holding it with both hands.

"I named it Cerberus," the old man said with a distant smile.

It was triple barreled, that was the most noticeable feature. It looked heavy. It was basically an oversized revolver with three extended barrels. The grip was deep brown in color, while the majority of the rest of the weapon was a dark silver grey. The only part that differed in coloring were the three hammers, which were a bright, shining gold. Down each barrel were streaming designs, which ended at the openings, morphing into dog heads. From the grip dangled a chain with a small silver insignia attached: Cerberus, the three headed dog.

"They fire synchronized, but are capable of being shot independently," Raiden explained, handing the weapon to Sephiroth.

Sephiroth accepted it, not at all surprised by the weight behind it. It was a beautiful gun, extremely unique, both in usage and character. But he knew just from looking at it, that he could not accept it; it was obviously prized by Raiden. It must have taken days to make it so smooth and unblemished, the metal holding no visible imperfections, while the designs were flawlessly executed, each matching to the point of being nearly identical.

"I cannot take this weapon," Sephiroth said quietly, trying to hand it back.

Raiden would not raise his hands from his sides, and only looked down at the gun, shaking his head. "No, you have to. I won't have something like that sitting in a case when it was made to do things. It's a gun, it is _destined_ to do things. I would trust it to no one else."

"No," Sephiroth repeated, holding the gun out.

"I'm not taking it. You already touched it. It's yours now; I don't want it," Raiden said with a wave of his hand. "You give it to that boy, and make sure he uses it. I want a body count."

Sephiroth only watched Raiden from beneath his black lashes, his eyes flitting to the gun he held. It looked misplaced in his thin fingers, the weapon seeming huge in comparison, though his hands were not small. It would be very heavy and bulky for Vincent, but that fact reminded him of Angeal and the Buster Sword. Vincent could grow into it, learn to use it....

"It will be a good gun. I spent years perfecting that design, and now it _is_ perfect. The Cerberus..." the old man said, grabbing a few things from the drawer and setting them on the table. One was a modified speed loader for the bullets, and the other was an extra box of ammunition he happened to have.

"Why?" Sephiroth asked, fingers tracing over the patterns running down the length of one of the barrels.

"Because," Raiden explained, "I want it to belong to the best."


	28. Not What It Seems

**A/N:** Sorry for the delay. May be typos; hasty edit. Thanks to my awesome freakin' reviewers! **SapphireMateria**, **whatevergirl**, **kiralover44**, **NicotineGum**, **minoki**, **CaseyAnn'sPrecious**, **-CNFB-**, **Risikaa**, **OvenBased**, **KT**, **bakimono**, **eclipse ze lunachic**, and **Identity Crysis**! The gauntlet fitting Vincent should be in the next chapter -CNFB- (I wondered about it too...). As for the spikey boots, Risikaa, yes, he will get them, and the rest of his outfit eventually. To answer both OvenBased and eclipse ze lunachic's question, yes Raiden was in fact based very loosely off of the swordmaker from Kill Bill, Hattori Hanzo. Hanzo was picky, which I liked---just too much of a pacifist for my tastes. Raiden probably won't show up again, KT, unfortunately. He didn't make Angeal or Genesis's swords (would have been cool though...). And Seph got the gauntlet idea from Chaos, as well as what Hojo did to Vincent's poor arm.

* * *

Vincent woke late in the morning, having purposefully overslept so that he would not be tempted to further slow his healing by doing something physically strenuous.

The beach was like a moving painting outside his window, the sun high in the sky, rays cascading over the emerald surface of the sea. He wanted to be outside, but thoughts of Chaos were enough to make him reconsider.

He spent most of the day trying to distract himself, but he dwelled regardless. He was angry and resentful, yet he didn't want to be. Chaos, from what he could tell, was enjoying the turmoil; the occasional flowering of pleasure snaked down his limbs when his feelings became most intense.

Chaos, Vincent knew, was connected to him now, in a way it hadn't been in previous days. He could _feel_ the entity, its emotions connected to him. There seemed to be nothing more than pleasure and anger; he had yet to sense much else. Chaos was very primal, Vincent knew that somehow, even though he had only been exposed to it for a very short amount of time.

He tried to sit by the fireplace and read some of the crinkled old fishing magazines that had been abandoned in the bathroom, but every time he tried to concentrate, he couldn't. It was easy to put his mind somewhere else when he had something to do, but anything that wasn't overly exciting didn't provide much distance from his inner feelings.

Vincent had felt sick since he had woken. His shirt had been stuck wetly to his skin, and his black hair had been damp across his forehead. This time it had not been just dreams of Sephiroth, but of Chaos. Dreams of sex intermingled with the violence of Chaos, both frightening him and arousing him. He hated it. It was worse than any normal fantasy about Sephiroth, because it made him feel exceedingly disgusting.

Vincent tossed the magazine onto the coffee table, his face in his hands.

He had to stop thinking about it. Sephiroth would be coming back soon, probably tomorrow, or even during the night, and he couldn't be obsessing over something that wasn't even real.... Sephiroth was not evil, he had never been evil, it was Chaos who was doing it, all of it. Chaos who was trying to undo him with the dreams. He wouldn't let it happen, he _couldn't_.

But visions of Sephiroth with his beautiful hair all bloodied, bent over a freshly dispatched corpse, wouldn't leave him. And to top it off, in the dream, Vincent had been Chaos. It had been Chaos Sephiroth had wanted, _not_ him. It had been Chaos the General had been smiling at as the red blood dripped from his lips, staining his white teeth and falling onto his leather coat. It was Chaos he had touched reverently, perfect fingers running down the side of its monstrous face.

Vincent was still mad with Sephiroth; he certainly had reason to be, but it still wasn't enough to rid him of whatever had been started, the stupid crush that was getting a little too powerful for his liking. It all needed to stop, but he wasn't sure he even had the willpower to. Chaos enjoyed it all far too much.

Vincent got up from the couch angrily, his maroon eyes going toward the door. He knew he shouldn't go outside; he was bruised all over and still sore (though he could already tell his mako enhanced body was nearly done repairing whatever damage there had been), but he needed the release it provided. He couldn't stand feeling caged up with nowhere to go.

Without further hesitation, he yanked the door open and went down the beach. He had given up trying to rest.

* * *

Flying was...odd. There was something about it that was freeing in a way nothing else could be.

What was ironic was that Chaos was the one who made it possible.

He was trying to learn how to use the form, recalling the way he had seen birds of prey dive down with their wings tucked in close to their bodies. He emulated those movements, though his were much more unskilled, his wings fluttering outward as he plummeted toward the ground, not held in tight enough. It took a lot of his energy to hold them closed when the wind was so powerful and kept trying to wrench them open. He was beginning to realize why young birds looked so shaky when flying: it wasn't easy.

Vincent knew that the only reason he had been able to beat the zuu was sheer speed alone. Even with his horrible turns and ungraceful dives, he hurtled past everything at a frightening speed. He had to be at least as fast as Sephiroth's motorcycle.

He had never been a daredevil, but he enjoyed forcing himself to be comfortable with the unpredictability of it all. He had no idea what he was doing, and for some reason it felt good, controlling, to be doing it regardless. Thoughts of the dream were easily forgotten as he stretched open the bat-like wings just before he crashed into the rocks, his yellow eyes opening wide. He couldn't help but let out a nervous laugh at how close he had been.

The voice was different sounding, deeper, with a twinge of an echo to it. But Vincent ignored it, making his way to the cliff face where the zuu had fallen to its death. Everything beneath him was a blur, rushing past his vision so that he barely had time to comprehend any of it.

When he neared the fallen beast, he could smell its stench. Though it had only been a day, the creature had been laying in the hot sun, fermenting more or less. The odor probably wouldn't have yet been overpowering for a human, but to Vincent's sensitive nose, it smelled awful, like it had been rotting for weeks.

It was in a twisted heap, eyes still open, but clouded over with a nasty white film. One of its wings had been bent nearly in half, damaged beyond all repair had the creature somehow managed to survive. The rocks were bloody, and Vincent could tell that it probably had struggled a bit, as it had left behind telltale streaks of red where its one good wing had tried to gain purchase on a rock to pull itself up. It should have been sad, upsetting even, but Vincent didn't feel much toward the creature. He had killed it in self defense, something he was beginning to accept.

Vincent knew if planned to make it through SOLDIER, he would be doing a lot more killing. He would never like it, never get used to it, but he knew that if something tried to harm him he would fight back. He couldn't be too sorry about it, though admittedly, he was.

The zuu didn't affect him much, probably because it had attacked him so relentlessly. It was the people he killed in Wutai that bothered him. They had never seen the bullets coming, had no way to even the score. He wasn't sure if he would ever get over it, though he wanted to more than anything. He wished he could be just as detached as Sephiroth was about it, take the man's advice and just let it be what it was. He couldn't change it, just like he knew somewhere that he wasn't going to be able to do anything about Chaos.

Vincent had the sudden urge to fly down to the ground. His wings felt heavier suddenly, harder to move, causing him to beat them more rapidly to keep at the same altitude. He began to descend downward, as Chaos's form began to weaken almost instantaneously. The wind effected him much more than it just had been, putting him slightly off of his target landing spot. He made it to the ground anyway, his shoulders already slumping.

Only seconds after his feet touched, there was the flash of red light that imploded outward. He was stripped of his wings, then entirely of Chaos, as the light brightened then died out. The mist faded away completely within a moment, clearing his field of vision.

He was breathing laboredly, half bent, his hands on his upper thighs so he could more easily rest his upper body. He was startled when he looked down, realizing he was himself again.

Why had he changed back?

He had felt like he _had_ to land. It hadn't been only the quick weakening that had convinced him, but the mental _need_....

His earlier questions came back to him. Maybe he could only use Chaos for a certain amount of time? It made sense, as he had also changed back after defeating the zuu.... He hadn't wanted to change back, it had just happened somehow.

What didn't add up, was that he hadn't felt the weakening like he had this time. But then again, he had been fighting, probably fueled with mako, or whatever Chaos's equivalent of adrenaline was.... That could have definitely dulled any feelings of weakness.

There was only one way to find out.

Vincent thought about Chaos again, on becoming it. He thought the name 'Chaos', then pictured the form he had seen in the mirror, with the almost lifeless, glowing yellow eyes....

Both times the thoughts had worked, somehow triggering the transformation, but this time the flash of red was very brief, flickering even. It didn't even last for a second, but milliseconds, so swift that Vincent nearly missed it entirely. The powerful blast of light never happened, though he had seen his hand change to claws for an instant. He concentrated harder, drawing upon the mental picture, the feelings even, but the light only emanated from his body once before dying out.

Nothing happened.

Was he drained? Did he have to wait for awhile before he'd be able to transform again? It seemed that way. Just like magic, Chaos's form appeared to be limited. It was vital information to know; if he fought too long oblivious of the form's weakening, he could end up changing back at a most inopportune moment.

Like when he was flying over a rock riddled beach.

Vincent sighed worriedly at the thought. He would need to be very cautious....

* * *

It was night by the time Sephiroth had loaded the motorcycle with the supplies he had bought.

Reno and Rude had already departed, leaving him to the darkness.

The path was as rocky and bumpy as it had been when he had taken Vincent, but he was able to drive as quickly as he wanted for the most part. Vincent had clearly been a little put off by the speed of the bike, which was normal. Sephiroth, however, had long become accustomed to it, both to its limitations and the feeling of recklessness that naturally accompanied the seemingly unstable vehicle.

Sephiroth had left Raiden's home hours after arriving, leaving with his black duffel filled with things. Reno and Rude noticed nothing different, as he had left the helicopter with the bag, then returned with it.

Seeing Raiden had been the most important out of the things he need to get done, though there had still been a few others. He had avoided Midgar altogether, having decided that he would pick up other supplies from the smaller cities.

He had managed to get two cell phones, both with a limited amount of minutes pre-purchased. His other work phone had left with Angeal before he left, to prevent any further prying on the part of Shinra.

Food had been one of the other most important items. Though the house had been well stocked, it would only last a few weeks at best, as most of the foods were perishable. Sephiroth had declined having someone bring things to them; he had made certain that no one knew he was the one renting the house. He would attempt to keep everything as private as possible, particularly for Vincent's sake.

Sephiroth had been the source of most of the boy's problems, even his treatment by Johns. Vincent was more than deserving of the gauntlet and gun, though Sephiroth knew it did not negate the mistakes he himself had made. He would do his best to ensure that the boy was properly trained and did not suffer further problems from mistakes that were not his fault.

His motives would be questioned, he knew, particularly by Shinra (they already were, he mused). It would be difficult to not reveal what had happened considering the suspicion that would arise from Vincent's 'special' treatment. Sephiroth was not concerned about how it would affect himself; that was inconsequential. He often did things that others thought were out of the ordinary or suspicious, so what did it matter if there was yet another thing added onto that list?

Sephiroth knew, however, that Vincent was the one who would be hit by it all the hardest. He would have to deal with the questions from peers about his whereabouts (Sephiroth had already fabricated a legitimate sounding story for the boy to use), as well as the usual damage that was caused by any sort of acquaintance with SOLDIERs of a higher rank. It was something Vincent had already dealt with being tutored by Angeal and Zack, and would only get progressively worse with time now that the boy would be gone so long then return at relatively the same level as his squad mates. They would want to know how it happened.

By the time Sephiroth had returned, the moon, which was three quarters full, had become covered by light dusting of clouds. The night was a deep, nearly black shade of blue, permeated only by the glowing of the light reflecting off of the moon.

He parked the motorcycle, silencing the engine. The supplies were easy to collect, as he had fastened them on either side of the bike using a rope in between as leverage. He hoisted them off, throwing them over his shoulders. He paused, however, when he heard the sound of movement in the house. He had thought that Vincent would be asleep already, given the late hour.

He heard the slight creak if the door opening before he got to it. Vincent emerged from the entrance, looking in his direction. Sephiroth made his way up the steps as Vincent propped the door open, letting him passed.

Vincent was caught between deciding to take the bags or to hold the door open, but he had decided on the latter since Sephiroth seemed to be carrying the luggage well enough on his own.

He felt useless already, but said nothing, closing the door shut behind them.

He had been surprised to hear Sephiroth's motorcycle so soon; he had thought that the man would probably show up the next day, likely later in the evening. He felt unprepared, still with a residual anger from what he had dealt with during Sephiroth's short absence. He knew he needed to keep it buried; Sephiroth did not deserve to be treated badly when he was doing so much to put things right.

But the nervousness had returned with a vengeance, regardless of the slight anger. He felt small and insignificant standing in front of Sephiroth again. The mixing of emotions was conflicting, and difficult to understand. Vincent knew there was not much point in trying; both seemed set on staying.

Sephiroth's hair was tangled from the ride to the house, and his face reddened slightly from the constant harsh wind against his skin. Otherwise, he looked no different, his clothes seemingly the same (though they smelled of a minty scent he couldn't quite place), his countenance as distant and unreachable as ever. Vincent was disappointed to see the man's eyes looking so cold again, but the reasonable side of him knew it was for the best.

Vincent had said nothing, unsure of how to greet the man, or whether or not it was even appropriate. Fortunately, Sephiroth broke the quiet.

"Did your time pass well?" he questioned, his voice low, sounding unused. The green eyes were examining Vincent.

It took a moment for Vincent to reply, as he formulated an answer. "Yes," he said, believing it half true.

Something flickered in the green, but it died out quickly. Vincent did not have the time to figure out what it had meant.

"Did you get to talk to Commander Hewley and Zack?" he asked conversationally, though he was also interested in knowing.

"Yes," was the curt response, the tone emotionless, blank.

Sephiroth picked up the two bags from the floor and set them on the coffee table in front of Vincent. He removed his gloves without ceremony, laying them on the nearby couch.

"There are many food items, but I also brought you some clothes," Sephiroth stated, unzipping one of the duffels.

Vincent had just taken a shower, his hair wet and dangling around his face in tendrils. His oversized shirt had water spots on it from where his hair dripped, and it was also untucked, nearly hanging to his knees, while his pants were so wide-legged in comparison to his thin body that it looked ridiculous. He had tried to ignore his clothes, but when Sephiroth brought it up, he blushed.

He didn't look away from Sephiroth's gaze, however, knowing that the General probably had barely even noticed what he was wearing. He was just thankful that the man had thought to bring him something.

Sephiroth placed two stacks of clothes on the velveteen couch; one three pairs of pants, while the other was composed of four long sleeved button-up shirts, thick enough to be used as a light jacket if the boy wanted. All the clothes were black and virtually nondescript. A netted drawstring bag came next, filled with underwear and socks, and perhaps even a few sets of gloves.

"That should do well enough for now," Sephiroth said offhandedly, already beginning to withdraw other items from the canvas bag.

"Thank you," Vincent said quietly. "You didn't have to do any of this..." he stopped for a moment, considering his words. "I'm grateful."

The man only nodded. He had emptied some of the items onto the table, but took the rest, bag and all, to the kitchen. Vincent started to follow him in order to help, but Sephiroth spoke:

"The items in that other bag are yours. You can do what you want with them," Sephiroth stated, beginning to line up cans on the island, along with boxes of packaged food.

Vincent looked back at the duffel resting on the table, confused. "What do you mean they are for me?" he enquired, voice sounding somewhat shaky.

Sephiroth did not reply.

Why would Sephiroth have gotten him anything? And what would he have gotten him? He had clothes, and the house was stocked with everything else he needed.... He did not like that the General had been forced to spend money on him, especially on anything else.

He ignored the bag, deciding whatever it was could wait; he hadn't helped at all. He approached the island somewhat cautiously, hoping he wasn't getting in the way, as he began to remove some of the boxes neatly packed into every corner of the canvas bag.

Sephiroth said nothing about it, though his eyes focused on the boy for an instant before returning to what he was doing.

When they had finished, Vincent stood by the counter awkwardly, before finally turning back to the livingroom where the bag was situated. He assumed it would be nothing, though he was still apprehensive about it. The last thing he wanted was for the General to feel burdened by him.

It was hard to be angry with the man when all his intentions meant well. Vincent knew that the way Sephiroth was treating him was probably very uncharacteristic, and he felt grateful, yet at the same time as though he was only getting in the way. Then there was the darker part that refused to let go of Chaos, of the General's fault behind the matter leading all the way back to him allowing Hojo life for several years. Vincent was tired of it already, as it had been plaguing him the whole day, making things far too complicated.

Sephiroth was organizing things in the kitchen, as Vincent stood over the black bag. He couldn't help but glance at Sephiroth, trying to discern whether or not the man was paying any attention to him whatsoever. The General as always, appeared completely unaffected, moving things to different cupboards and sorting through the food in the refrigerator.

Vincent unzipped the bag, not expecting much.

There was some sort of animal skin covering whatever was inside, which made him curious. The smell of the cured leather was strong, wafting from the open bag.

He pulled out a large object, surprised by how light it seemed in relation to how big it was. He looked over at Sephiroth again, but the man was still distant, detached, not even watching him, still reorganizing everything. He began unwrapping the skin, laying the package on the couch to make sure he wouldn't drop it.

When it was all rolled back, there was a golden gauntlet in front of him.

Vincent's maroon eyes widened, as he stared down at it. His fingers traced over its surface instantly, seemingly of their own accord, before he even had time to register anything. It was smooth, perfectly constructed, with a light sheen to it. The tips of the metal fingers were obviously sharp, as he could see the tiny holes they had made in the covering simply by rubbing against the gauntlet during transit.

He instinctively looked over his shoulder as his thoughts came back to him. There was no other bag. This had to be the right one...or was it?

The gauntlet was beyond well made, looking like a prestigious war relic to be displayed rather than something to be worn and tarnished. It couldn't be for him. It must have been a mistake.

Vincent wasn't sure whether or not to ask Sephiroth. He didn't want to have opened the wrong thing, and this had to be wrong. He started to walk over to Sephiroth, but stopped, losing his nerve. What if it was the wrong bag? Would Sephiroth be angry?

His voice came out almost by itself, "Si–Sephiroth?" It was quiet, nearly a whisper, but he knew the General would be able to hear it.

"Yes?"

"I'm not sure...if I opened the right bag," he said nervously.

There was a brief silence in which Vincent's anxiety worsened.

"There is only one," Sephiroth answered, finally turning from what he was doing. The green eyes were fathomless, but there was an almost indiscernible tightness to his jaw that made Vincent wonder if the man was upset with him.

Vincent nodded a few times, trying to figure out what he should say. There had been more in the bag, but he hadn't looked yet. He already knew he couldn't accept whatever was there. How much must it have cost him to buy that gauntlet and whatever else was in the bag?

The action seemed completely unlike Sephiroth, which made Vincent realize that there was probably a lot more behind the reasoning than first glance would suggest. Sephiroth was not like other people; his beliefs were clearly very different. Still, why?

"You feel guilty, don't you?" Vincent concluded, unbelieving that he had said his inner thoughts aloud.

Vincent could feel his face heat, and that nervousness become much, much worse. But instead of a vaguely pleasant nervous, it was a very foreboding one. He knew he had said the wrong thing, not believing how stupid he had been. That anger that seemed gone, had lashed out the instant he hadn't expected it.

But Sephiroth did not get angry. He only let out a loud breath, green eyes searching something Vincent could not see.

"I didn't—" Vincent began to amend, only for Sephiroth to raise a palm, a gesture to stop.

"I am sorry for the mistake I made." His tone was measured, flat, but not cold. "But you are under no obligation to forgive me, and I would never expect it. Do not interpret what I am giving you as mere guilt—I am simply trying to set things right," Sephiroth explained, watching Vincent intently. "You have potential. I will not allow what I did to stand in the way of that."

Vincent could only stare at the floor, his anger having completely subsided, extinguished for the moment like a pinched out candle flame. He felt stupid, as he knew he had more or less completely insulted one of the few people who he looked up to.

"That was a stupid thing for me to say," Vincent said quietly, unable to look up at the green eyes that he knew were studying him.

"Hardly. You have taken this much better than most would," Sephiroth commented, walking a few steps closer. His expression was unreadable when Vincent glanced up at him, but he knew from the way the man kept watching him that he was concerned.

Vincent only shook his head, trying to keep himself from showing anything, but knowing that Sephiroth could pick through his pathetically constructed veil without effort.

"I can't take it," he said after a moment. "The gauntlet and whatever else you bought for me."

"I cannot use those things," Sephiroth replied. "And the man I received them from will not take them back."

Vincent was staring at the floor again, looking anxious. He felt like he was in a position where he could do nothing but accept, and as much as he wanted to, part of him knew that he shouldn't.

"Sephiroth, I can't."

"Why, because you believe that it will make you indebted to me?" Sephiroth questioned.

Vincent made no response, not sure what to say.

"You own me nothing, Vincent," Sephiroth said dismissively. When the boy only looked up at him, he said flatly yet forcefully: "Take them, or I will have no choice but to discard them."

He turned without saying anything further, moving away from Vincent. He walked back to the open cabinets he had left behind, as though nothing had occurred.

Vincent stayed where he was, only watching Sephiroth for a moment. He wanted to refuse, but he knew it was pointless. When it became clear that the man believed the conversation over, he slowly went back to the livingroom, where the gauntlet lay, gleaming in the light.

It was for his left arm, he noticed, the same one that had claws when he became Chaos, the same one that he had woken to find glinting metal pieces inside of back in the labs.... Vincent stared down at the scars, his right index finger running along the long pink lines that had an angry red edge to them.

Sephiroth had gotten it for that arm specifically, Vincent realized, or had it just been luck?

The duffel was as it had been, as he pulled another package out, this time a rectangular plastic box. It was not wrapped, nor did it have any labeling on it. It looked sealed for the most part, though there was an edge that looked as though it could be pried up if one took the time. He set that one aside, reaching down to grab one of the last things inside.

It was a silver suitcase, somewhat small in size in comparison to a typical suitcase. He frowned, placing it on the couch, careful not to disturb the gauntlet or the neatly stacked clothes. He clicked the case open, his breaths coming out haltingly, expectantly.

Whatever was in the case was covered with the same skin that had been protecting the gauntlet. He pushed his hands into the foam, reaching around the bulky object, still frowning. Was it a gun?

When he pulled off the cloth, there was an exquisite revolver beneath. Vincent had never seen anything like it, not even the officers he had known during his time in the army had possessed such a modified gun—he hadn't even known there were guns with three barrels.

It was ornate, while still retaining a respectable quality from the perfection of its build. It was heavy too, he noticed. He wasn't even sure how it would work, though he could see that there were in fact three separate cylinders—one for each barrel.

A silver chain dangled from the bottom of the handle, an elaborate charm attached to the end. Three heads extending from one body, the faces in a grimace, dog-like with long canines showing. There were also wings coming from the single body.

Vincent couldn't stop examining it, turning it over in his hand to see each design that stretched down the barrels, feeling the hefty bulk behind it. It was obvious that someone had spent a lot of time on it, someone extremely skilled.

Vincent was amazed. He couldn't believe Sephiroth had gotten it for him. He was ashamed about how he had reacted, and knew he would not feel alright about it until he talked to the man and apologized again.

It wasn't without hesitation that he placed the gun next to the gauntlet, his maroon eyes moving over to Sephiroth. The man had finished with the cupboards and was removing things from the refrigerator, preparing something to eat.

He made his way around the couch, then more slowly into the kitchen, sorting through what to say in his head. He stood in front of the island for a moment before finally convincing himself to speak.

"Thank you," Vincent said simply, his nervousness nearly cutting off his words.

Sephiroth looked over to Vincent, the smallest smile on his lips.

"It's incredible—both of them are."

"Yes. Raiden has a special talent," Sephiroth commented.

Sephiroth's calmness was something Vincent envied in that moment. His own words seemed so childish when he heard them aloud.

"I'm sorry for sounding ungrateful, and for misinterpreting everything, I just...." He fell into silence, maroon eyes locked with Sephiroth's from behind his damp black hair.

"You are angry," Sephiroth provided, a bare hand resting on the tabletop.

"Not so much anymore," he corrected quietly. "There's just a lot to accept."

Sephiroth's look was one of understanding. He didn't have to say anything for Vincent to interpret that.

* * *

A/N: Vincent's feelings are meant to be very confusing in this chapter. Anyway, I hope it still read alright regardless, because I am half sleeping.


	29. Hero Worship

**A/N:**I'm glad you are all patient. I mean it's been 120,000 words and no sex (and no sex this chapter either...). *sigh* Thanks to: KT, whatevergirl, NicotineGum, kiralover44, celestral, bakimono, CaseyAnn'sPrecious, -CNFB-, and eclipse ze lunachic ! There probably won't be much of Chaos's POV eclipse ze lunachic, though if he gains control somehow... *evil grin* then yeah. Definitely.

I need to stop looking at yaoi fanart. I am thoroughly disgusted with my perverseness. Lots of awkwardness this chapter. I think the smut will be along in about 3-4 chapters, depending on how it goes with the next few. I'm setting the stage, and I'll try to give you warning ahead of time.

* * *

The second dinner Vincent had with Sephiroth was another quiet one.

Vincent's anger had faded out, disappearing to whatever dark place it liked to hide in, replaced by an overbearing nervousness. He was silent, both from thought and a lack of anything important to say, while the man across from him hardly ate at all, his green eyes constantly flitting to one of the windows where a small section of the rocky beach was visible. It was obvious that he was in his own mental world as well.

To Vincent, the silence felt uncomfortable, but he knew it was only a matter of perspective. He was as nervous as ever, trying not to stare across the table or focus too much on the echoing clink of silverware against porcelain that seemed to make the quietness all the more painful.

Sephiroth wasn't one to talk; he knew he shouldn't expect anything. He was accustomed to the incessant chatter of a room full of SOLDIERs talking about training and sex, not to the strange lack of sound and conversation that seemed to be a large part of Sephiroth's demeanor, at least toward him. After all, what would the greatest SOLDIER have to say to a Third?

Vincent knew not to take things personally when it came to the General, however he was somewhat sensitive to the man's moods regardless, as his feelings wouldn't allow him reprieve from such things. He _wanted _to know what Sephiroth was thinking.

"There was a plastic container among the things I gave you," Sephiroth stated, startling Vincent a little, as he hadn't been expecting the man to talk. "You can use the material inside of it to make a proper casting of your arm."

Vincent nodded, feeling scrutinized as the emerald eyes observed him. "I was wondering how it would stay on," he said quietly.

"It is somewhat like clay in composition, though it has magnetic particles in it. It will bond to the metal of the gauntlet, while maintaining the impression of your arm once it fully dries. You should have no problems with it falling off or becoming loose, so long as the casting is done carefully," Sephiroth explained, pushing his plate aside.

A few minutes later, after Vincent had finished his meal, he helped Sephiroth clear everything away, stacking it all into the expansive sink. Again, the man abruptly spoke through the quiet:

"If you feel you are well enough, we can begin training tomorrow."

"Really?" Vincent asked, somewhat surprised.

He wanted to begin training as soon as possible, but he had been certain the General would order him to wait awhile. The fact that Sephiroth had suggested it made him feel a little better; at least the man didn't think he was completely incapable.

"Yes," Sephiroth answered with the smallest hint of a smile. "But we will need to work on the gauntlet tonight so that the impression would be dried completely by tomorrow."

"Will it be done by then?" Vincent questioned, wondering if just leaving it overnight might not be enough time.

He didn't know much about the foam-like substances that were occasionally used in such pieces of armor, but he knew enough from his classes that sometimes they were put into a kiln much like clay, so that they would harden. The foam casting wasn't actually hard, but relatively flexible. Armor was stiff enough as it was, so care had to be taken when trying to fit it, to ensure that the limited movement wasn't compromised further.

"It is quick drying; it generally only takes a few hours to become useable, but it is best to allow it time to set," Sephiroth replied, moving from the sink. There was a pause, as the man looked over to him, seemingly deciding something. "We can do it now, if you would like."

"Okay," Vincent agreed.

Sephiroth walked past him, into the livingroom where most of the items were laid out on the couch. He picked up the plastic box as well as the gauntlet, bringing both back into the kitchen, where Vincent was watching curiously, unsure if he should do something.

Sephiroth lightly placed both on the island, his hands moving to the plastic box. The lid came off with relative ease, though Vincent could tell from the whitening of the man's knuckles that anyone else would have struggled with it for several minutes. When he placed the lid aside, a marshmallow-like substance was revealed. It was black, though like Sephiroth said, it glinted with the minuscule bits of metal imbedded in it.

"Roll up your sleeve," Sephiroth ordered, his sea green eyes gazing down at the putty-like material as he spoke.

Vincent did as he was told, not questioning, as he pushed up the sleeve, folding it at the top to keep it from falling down. It was so wide in comparison to his arm that it barely stayed at all.

Unexpectedly, Sephiroth grabbed Vincent by the wrist, bringing him closer. He placed the boy's arm on the island with the palm flat, flush with the tabletop.

The man's touch was surprisingly warm, which Vincent didn't shy from it, though he was trying not to appear to be affected. Sephiroth didn't seem to notice the way Vincent was standing so uncomfortably. He moved the small fingers apart, before beginning to slowly cover each fingertip in the foamy black material.

It wasn't gooey like Vincent had expected, but much more clay like, not leaving any residue behind from what he could feel. Sephiroth meticulously wrapped each finger in black, smoothing the substance together so that it did not have structural weakness.

Vincent was trying not to breathe too heavily from Sephiroth's immediate closeness, or the gentle way that he was working, careful not to pinch the small fingers underneath the foam.

Sephiroth's long hair kept brushing against his arm as the man worked, soft and distracting. Vincent realized then that Sephiroth's eyelashes weren't the same silvery-grey as his hair or eyebrows, but an ebony similar to his own hair color. The eyes weren't just green either; up close they had flecks of blue in them that surrounded the small, narrow pupils. The skin was pale, though not so much as his own, having at least some undertone of color to it. The straps of his coat crossed over the bare chest beneath, revealing more than just suggestions of musculature. The upper part of the man's stomach was visible right above the strange symbol underneath the straps, tauntingly perfect.

He looked away, back to what Sephiroth was doing, trying not to be obvious that he was staring. He hated that he was having such thoughts when the man was so close to him; the last thing he needed was to do something else stupid.

The rage that had built up was buried again, though still there. Something about Sephiroth's constant calm and lack of showing emotion was both admirable and suspicious. He tried to just watch what Sephiroth was doing, to keep his mind blank, but it was difficult when the man was touching him. He supposed though that it was better to be aroused than to be angry.

After finishing each finger, Sephiroth began moving further up Vincent's hand, working quickly so that the mold would not have too much opportunity to dry before it was placed inside of the gauntlet itself. It did need to be somewhat dry on the outside surface to prevent the casting from collapsing when it was placed, however, it was a fine line. If it did not fit to the gauntlet well from being allowed too much time to dry, then it could come off of Vincent at a most inconvenient time.

Every once in awhile, one of Sephiroth's deft fingers touched his skin, making him all the more anxious and uncomfortable. He could already feel the preliminary stirrings worsening, as a heat had started to spread through a very specific part of his body.

His hormones were enough to make him blush, though he knew Sephiroth couldn't see anything anyway, given that his shirt was hanging away from his body and drifted over any telltale signs.

The minty smell from earlier was very strong, particularly with Sephiroth so close. It wasn't just minty either, it had subtle undertones that he couldn't identify. It seemed to have permeated the leather, as well as the man's long hair.

Finally, Sephiroth had Vincent's arm covered all to way to above his elbow, his fingers pushing over any small cracks or fissures he could see in the material. The substance was light, airy, so it was easy for him to hold out his arm as Sephiroth picked up the gauntlet.

"Try to keep your fingers straight," Sephiroth instructed, slowly slipping the metal over the boy's arm.

Vincent tried to keep his arm as steady as possible, not wanting to accidentally push too much against one side and somehow make the casting uneven. When he got past the wrist of the armor, it was difficult to completely get his fingers to push into the clawed ones of the gauntlet, but they did not have the go the entire way. The hand of the gauntlet was much larger than his own, his fingertips at least two inches from touching the ends. Sephiroth had packed a lot of extra material onto the ends of his fingers, so all he had to do was make certain that it was squeezed into the smaller spaces.

"You will have to keep it on for several minutes," Sephiroth stated, placing Vincent's gauntlet covered arm back onto the island so that it wouldn't move.

Vincent had the urge to flex his clawed fingers, but resisted. He needed to keep his arm still so that it would all set properly.

"How am I going to get it off?" Vincent asked, trying to keep himself from watching the way Sephiroth's chest rose and fell slightly with each breath.

"The metal particles will more or less adhere to the inside of the gauntlet, sealing them together. It won't be that difficult to remove your arm after that," Sephiroth explained. "The material will also begin to expand, which will ensure that the foam reaches the more narrow places, such as the tips of the claws. That in and of itself should help prevent the bond from coming loose."

It should have been a rather mundane conversation, but Vincent was fascinated by the gauntlet. He wasn't entirely sure how he would even fight with it, though Chaos had certainly provided many interesting ideas.

He still hadn't told Sephiroth what had happened at the beach, though he knew he would need to eventually. He would wait awhile, as he himself wasn't too thrilled with having to speak of the thing. Just the utterance of the name in his head was enough to make that tiny flickering of anger ignite somewhat.

A few minutes had passed in silence, Sephiroth disappearing shortly as he took things into his room. Vincent waited patiently, his right hand running over the golden metal, down the long, taloned fingers. They were so sharp that he accidentally cut himself, small droplets of blood gathering on his fingertip. He hadn't even felt it at first, but realized it when he left behind watery little patches of blood across the stretch of metal he had touched. He frowned, wiping the offending substance from the gleaming gauntlet with his other hand, staining his fingers.

Sephiroth noticed as he came back into the kitchen, withdrawing a small square of soft leather from inside his coat along with a tiny glass bottle filled with something yellowish. When he began to apply it liberally to the cured skin, the smell of it had drifted over to Vincent.

It was that almost minty smell, the scent that was all over Sephiroth.

"What is that?" Vincent asked, looking to the small bottle that looked so out of place in the strong, yet graceful hands.

Sephiroth looked up, "It's for cleaning weapons." When Vincent appeared as though he was about to ask something else, the man continued, "Generally it is called _Choji _oil, though this mixture is somewhat different from most. That spray that you often use for swords is similar, though it does not contain any oil of cloves." Sephiroth had placed the square of hide on the table along with the bottle, yet to clean the gauntlet.

They used an oily spray and rags to clean the weapons on base, Vincent remembered. It was odorless and colorless, and tended to keep the metals from rusting.

"I think we talked about it in class once," Vincent commented. "But I was told it wasn't used anymore."

Something about the fact that Sephiroth had kept up with an old tradition surprised Vincent.

"It is old fashioned, but the man who instructed me in the sword used to say..." Sephiroth stopped mid-sentence, his eyebrows drawn together for a brief instant, green eyes flickering with a storminess that disappeared almost immediately.

Vincent waited for the General to continue, but he never did. Instead he was completely startled when Sephiroth started to laugh, the sound bitter, hopeless almost. It didn't last long, dying off quickly as Sephiroth placed a hand on the tabletop. He smiled for a moment after that, shaking his head and looking down, never catching Vincent's gaze.

"Never mind," Sephiroth finished. The smile faded, replaced by a coldness that was markedly nostalgic. "I think it is time to remove it," he said abruptly, cutting off the conversation.

Vincent tried not to frown.

He realized that moment just what a place the man was in. He had been about to say something personal, but had stopped himself, obviously feeling there was no need for such things. It was sad in a way, to think that after being the leader of SOLDIER he never had reprieve from the controlled personality traits he had adopted because of it. It was difficult to hate someone who tried so valiantly to make things easier on others.

Sephiroth had been 'normal' once, Vincent was sure of it, for how else could he know how to console those who felt guilt over what they were forced to do? Sephiroth was human underneath, which had always intrigued Vincent. It also nearly confirmed that the man was no monster, just a person in protective, almost impenetrable mental armor.

The gauntlet was pulled from his arm much more easily than he had expected, his fingers sliding out from between the walls of foam-like material. There was no residue on his arm at all when he examined it. The mold had taken, at least from what Vincent could see. It had not caved in or been pulled out of the gauntlet at all.

Sephiroth had begun to polish the metal with the scrap of suede, Vincent only watching. The man ceased after a moment, his eyes assessing Vincent intently. He held out the piece of skin to the boy, who looked down at it a moment before accepting it. He began to do what he had seen Sephiroth doing, trying not to look up at the eyes he knew were watching as they were so prone.

Sephiroth's attention was unsettling, though he found himself liking it in some ways. He should have been angry with Sephiroth, but his hormones nullified everything for the moment, making it more of a game than something unpleasant. There was still a heat in his lower body that he wasn't fully acknowledging.

"Where did you get Masamune?" Vincent asked abruptly, not quite sure why that had been the first thought to come to mind.

Sephiroth, for once, seemed to be somewhat taken aback by the question, though he answered as cooly as ever, "It was passed down to me," he answered simply. He did not elaborate, though he continued to observe Vincent.

He nodded in response. How exactly how had he expected Sephiroth to answer?

"How did you know it is called Masamune?" Sephiroth questioned after a moment.

Vincent couldn't help but smile, rubbing the fingerprints off of the reflective surface of the gauntlet as he thought of how to reply. "Everyone does," he said quietly, still smiling.

Sephiroth looked surprised, assessing again.

"They want to know everything about you because you represent what they imagine themselves becoming," Vincent confided, maroon eyes glancing at the General.

"Mere illusion," Sephiroth whispered, more to himself than the boy. "It can be useful, but it can also be dangerous," he said more loudly, reflecting internally on how showing up at a training session increased progress more quickly, or how it calmed his men to know he was nearby.

"Not to them. To them it means aspiring to be a hero," Vincent answered. "They want people to see them as they see you, with respect, and even fear at times."

"And what do you want?" There was an edge of amusement to the tone that caused Vincent to stop what he was doing.

"I..." Vincent paused, not sure how to word it. "I want to belong to something. I don't want to be worshiped, or to be a hero; there seem to be too many attachments to it. I just want to feel like I am accomplishing something," he said truthfully, wondering if Sephiroth would find it a strange response.

Sephiroth smiled slightly at the answer, his eyes looking amused. "You do not want to follow the path of the so-called _'heroes'_?" His emphasis of the word sounded almost hateful. "Some might debate that in a place such as Shinra, in SOLDIER, that is not possible."

"It is possible to fade into the background," Vincent replied.

"Yes, there are always those who lead and those who follow. But those who follow do not make change. They only do as instructed."

Vincent looked away from Sephiroth, toward the hardwood floor. The General was hinting at what he didn't want to admit to himself. Somehow, he wasn't surprised that Sephiroth understood him better than he himself did.

"I don't want to stand by, but getting involved seems too complicated," Vincent said softly.

"It would be wise to stay away from such things if the situation allows for it." Sephiroth went silent, seemingly finished, but after a few seconds, he added: "You will know when the time calls for you to disobey."

Vincent was visibly shocked by the advice, not expecting Sephiroth to say that sort of thing in front of a subordinate. He knew Sephiroth was not likely to be the obedient type, however, he never thought the man would openly admit to it and encourage it.

"The difference between a human being and a machine is disobedience. To act and never question makes one nothing but a slave," Sephiroth stated, his voice sounding darker somehow.

Vincent nodded, knowing it was true.

"You are what you choose to be, Vincent, not what they instruct you to be. You always are the one who makes the final verdict."

* * *

A/N: Sorry, kind of a boring, uneventful chapter. Next one is training :D


	30. Never Play By the Rules

**A/N:**I've been exceedingly busy, unfortunately. We're almost to 300 reviews, can you believe that? Has to be the greatest thing ever :D Thanks to: kiralover44, whatevergirl, NicotineGum, Tiny Koala, SilverwhitePoison, CaseyAnn'sPrecious, bakimono, -CNFB-, KT, eclipse ze lunachic, and Ovenbased ! I don't think Sephiroth will have his wing this early on, though I can see it happening eventually, KT. He's just so cool he flies without one! XD Like when messing with A & G in CC.... He's so egotistical, he transends gravity!

* * *

Vincent did not have a dreamless night.

He wasn't sure how many dreams he had, only that some had been about Sephiroth, others about monsters and more twisted sex fantasies he hated being forced to participate in. The violence and killing though, far outweighed anything else in how horrible it was.

There seemed to be no escape from the nightmares; he used to be capable of waking himself when something became too unpleasant, however, these dreams did not want to permit him that opportunity. He was locked into them, as much as a prisoner in a cell. The cell just so happened to be his own mind, the one that was now linked to Chaos.

He woke with Sephiroth standing over him, one of the strong glove-covered hands on his shoulder. The eyes that looked down at him held a veiled concern. The man was close enough that the long silver hair was trailing over the bed sheets as he partially leaned to look down at Vincent.

"You were screaming," Sephiroth said simply, his voice low.

Vincent swallowed, his throat dry and sticky from sleep. There was a film of thick sweat over him, and his shirt was wet underneath his arms and around his neck. It had not been a carefree sleep.

He knew he was blushing, completely embarrassed that something in a dream had managed to upset him so much. Why did it always have to be something?

"I'm sorry," Vincent apologized, voice cracking from having been abused only moments before. "I didn't mean to.... It was just a bad dream."

Sephiroth nodded, removing his hand and backing away to give the boy space. He seemed as though he wanted to ask something, but refrained, saying instead, "We can begin training in a few hours if you wish."

* * *

Vincent got ready minutes later, having washed up briefly using the water from the sink. He wasn't sure exactly what 'training' entailed, but he knew that taking a shower would probably be fairly pointless since it was Sephiroth who would be choosing the pace. He had a feeling the man would push him in order to test him. He planned on pushing himself as well; he had too much to be embarrassed about as it was.

He had only really noticed the underwear, having glanced over them before, while there were in the netted bag. He couldn't help but feel strange, his face reddening even further. But he tried not to think about it, putting on the pair of black boots he had found inside with the undergarments.

Everything was just about the right size, even the pants fitting his small waist, while the button-up shirt fit well enough to not get in the way, while still being loose enough to allow for regular movement. All of the dark clothes washed him out, emphasizing his almost abnormal skin tone and maroon eyes. His shining, ebony hair could hardly even be seen, blending in with the fabric on his shoulders.

The fitted clothes made his small frame all the more obvious, which Vincent frowned at in the mirror. He looked about as he did when in uniform at Shinra, except he was even more thin than he had been then. He had never been one to concern himself over his physical appearance, but to someone like Sephiroth, he knew he did not look the part of a SOLDIER. It made Vincent feel somewhat self-conscious, particularly because of his feelings toward the General. He didn't want to seem as though he was weak and helpless.

Sighing, he left the reflection behind, deciding he'd try to eat a few things before he went down to the beach with Sephiroth.

* * *

They walked over the rocks slowly, Sephiroth looking off toward the ocean much of the time, eyes matching the turbulent hues that swayed and frothed up the shoreline.

Vincent had pulled on the gauntlet to find that it fit too snugly at first. But a few seconds later it expanded, adapting to the shape of his hand. The material was similar to the 'memory' foam in mattresses, though much more durable and less porous, which made it stiffer, able to hold the metal in place on his arm with ease. He could move the claws more or less like his own fingers, though they were much larger and felt awkward for the time being. They couldn't be pulled into an entire fist; the taloned tips of the fingers were a bit too long. But everything else appeared to work as it always did.

They stopped not too far from the house, on a clearer patch of beach that was more dirt than rock, though there were still many stones embedded in the ground. The sun wasn't terribly high in the sky, though its heat was bearing down on them at times when the clouds failed to obscure it.

Sephiroth looked up at the sky for a brief few seconds, before his eyes moved to Vincent. The pupils were almost indiscernible lines, the brightness wreaking havoc on their light sensitivity. Vincent was squinting and hiding behind locks of black hair, unused to the way his head had begun to pound from the stimulus. It was one of the brightest days yet.

"You will grow accustomed to it," Sephiroth said quietly, taking a deeper breath as the breeze of the ocean drifted over them both, ruffling hair and cooling skin.

They stood silently, Sephiroth with his hands held loosely at his sides, eyes never leaving Vincent. There was the vaguest hint of a smile on his lips as he remained motionless. Vincent was not one to fidget, instead remaining as statuesque as the General, though he wondered if he was expected to do something.

The first minute passed, Vincent watching Sephiroth, wanting to ask what he was supposed to do. Something kept him from speaking though, probably the almost mocking way the man was looking at him, as though daring him to do it.

"I'm glad to see that you have more patience than Angeal's puppy," Sephiroth commented, finally crossing his arms over his chest.

Vincent couldn't help but smile, realizing he had passed some sort of test.

"Patience is essential. Unfortunately it is not something the SOLDIER program practices with any regularity. There's an expression, I believe it goes, 'hurry up and wait'. In essence, be prepared, always, but know that no matter what you should wait for the most opportune moment to strike, never act rashly without a substantial amount of forethought."

Vincent gave a nod to show he understood.

"Now strike me," Sephiroth ordered, not changing his relaxed stance.

His maroon eyes widened, and he couldn't help but ask, "With what?"

"With what you have. There will be times where you may come across a weapon you are not familiar with, but will be forced to use for lack of anything else. It takes instinct, intelligence. Look at a weapon or object and decide what it is best suited for," Sephiroth instructed, his eyes having moved to the gauntlet on the boy's arm.

Vincent frowned, looking down at the new weapon. "Claws. Slashing, tearing?"

"Yes," Sephiroth agreed. "So use it—exploit it for what it provides."

He stared at the gauntlet, curling his fingers for a moment. He didn't know what he was doing. He was going to seem like an idiot. But he reminded himself that he hadn't known how to use Chaos that first fight either, he had guessed. Wasn't it really the same situation? He had managed then....

With an inhalation of breath, he locked his fingers straight, then lashed out once, much like a cat would. The move wasn't quick or skillful, but he could already feel the potential from the ease it was for him to strike; it wasn't like a sword where it had to become an extension of his body, it _was_ his arm. It forced him to move in to attack, much more like hand-to-hand, which fortunately came much easier to him than sword fighting ever had.

Sephiroth had deftly blocked the movement with Masamune, quick enough to change his stance and draw the blade, the metal clashing together loudly with Vincent's. The sword had hit the palm of his hand, but did not cut through, only moving it out of the way with a powerful shove to the side.

"Good."

Vincent smiled briefly, before raising his arm just as the sword came toward him unexpectedly. The blade hit his forearm with a clang, sending him stumbling, though he was able to fully block it. He was surprised by how easy it had been, very much reflex.

Sephiroth struck again, the movements obviously slow for the man, but a perfect speed for Vincent to keep up. The arc of silver was again stopped by the boy, who did his best to cast it aside as Sephiroth had done himself.

Within a few exchanged hits, it became clear that he could use the gauntlet not only to attack, but to successfully hold off an opponent's strike. He hadn't originally thought it wouldn't be all that effective for defense. Masamune, known for being excessively sharp, hadn't even left a mark on the durable metal. The natural curve of the gauntlet over his arm didn't allow the blade anything to bite into, causing it to simply slide off harmlessly. He quickly learned to keep his hand relatively closed and bent when he blocked, not only to strengthen the block itself, but to keep the blade from catching on the point where the wrist and hand of the gauntlet connected with a thick band of metal.

Sephiroth went easy on him, while still making him work hard enough that he had begun to breathe heavily. Vincent was often the one retreating across the rocks, but the man still gave him the opportunity to move offensively, leaving small openings that he had to fight for, blocking quickly then attacking immediately after.

Vincent could feel a substantial difference in his overall strength. It wasn't half so much of a struggle to stave off the offense, his arm actually able to move against the power wielded behind the blade. Sephiroth wasn't using his full strength by any means, but he remembered from the earlier training session at Shinra that it had been much more difficult. He knew he was probably at least as strong now as the other SOLDIERs in his advanced squad had been (though he reasoned they had probably improved since the last time he had seen them). He had both Sephiroth an Hojo to thank for that....

"You are doing well," Sephiroth complimented, though the tone did not fluctuate, still flat as ever.

They paused for a minute, after Sephiroth had motioned for a break. He was breathing normally, no sweat beading on his skin, or any other sign of tiring. Vincent on the other hand, looked to be slowing, his breathing shallower, while there was the distinct smell of sweat coming off of him.

Considering how quickly they had been fighting and how long, Sephiroth was pleased with the boy's aptitude. He had used a weapon he was completely unfamiliar with and still fared well, obviously using some of the skills he had learned from practicing with the sword and translating them to the gauntlet.

"Was it as difficult as you first believed?" the man enquired, green eyes penetrating.

Vincent was shaking his head, "No, it was...sort of easy," he said truthfully, giving a half smile.

Surprisingly, Sephiroth smiled back, though it was weak, watered down. "You limit yourself before you have even begun."

"Yes," Vincent admitted, looking away from the piercing gaze focused in on him.

"You have no reason to doubt yourself," Sephiroth said softly, still a slight curve to his lips.

Vincent could feel his face heat, as he nodded in response, knowing the man was right.

There was a short halt in conversation, Sephiroth's look intense. The waves were crashing up against the rocks further down the shore, noisy but calming.

"What are your weaknesses?"

Vincent managed to recapture the stare, trying to keep himself from being intimidated or embarrassed by it. But the question seemed personal, the way Sephiroth was watching him making him hesitate.

"I am not as fast as you, or as strong as you," Vincent said quietly, unsure if that was the answer the man wanted. He was feeling nervous again, his stomach feeling lighter, but slightly unpleasant as it seemed to clench and twist.

"No," Sephiroth answered, his tone almost reprimanding. "Do not judge your abilities in relation to mine. I want you to tell me the basic skills that are always lacking, regardless of who you are fighting."

He thought for a moment, letting out a low sigh. "My strength. I can't put as much power behind my attacks as I need to, though, I think that's getting better. Then the doubt, like you said. I think it makes me slower, because I second guess myself a lot. My swordplay remains awful," he confessed, face still reddened.

"Is there one thing amongst those perceived weaknesses that cannot be improved upon with adequate training?" Sephiroth asked, assessing.

"No," Vincent replied quietly.

One of Sephiroth's eyebrows raised slightly, his eyes holding an amusement that helped ease some of the boy's tension. The man's detachment wasn't completely gone, but it was as though it had shifted further back, much less noticeable. The change was always so swift that Vincent hardly had time to adjust.

Vincent was humble, something Sephiroth found interesting. It bordered on being more than self doubt, which he intended to prevent from worsening. There was very little time in SOLDIER for individuals to be appreciated, at least in the lower ranks, which was the period where it was most important.

He remembered Zack being similar, though he had been much more energetic. Angeal's time with the teen had slowly whittled away any reservations he had, not only improving his skill, but making him feel more confident about his abilities, perhaps a little too much, Sephiroth thought wryly.

But Vincent was different. He did not have the same almost reckless attitude that Zack did. He was much more cautious, while still looking for some sort of guidance, whether he realized it or not. He was not reachable as Zack was, but Sephiroth reflected, more distant as he himself was. Their close resemblance in personality was difficult to ignore. He found himself often reminded of it.

It was the vulnerability that made him very conscientious of what he said to the boy. It was something that he himself hadn't experienced often, one of their differences. He had never had time to be vulnerable; it would have cost too much. Internally, however, things had been very different. Vincent wasn't broken, but he certainly had his scars.

Sephiroth was developing an even further concern for the Third that he did not like. The screaming the boy had done in his sleep was not helping, and had forced him to acknowledge that there was more care directed toward him than there should have been.

He did not want Vincent to be hurt further, not from himself or anyone else, though he knew it was inevitable. He was beginning to understand why Angeal often became so worried when Zack was having problems. For Sephiroth, it was very difficult to empathize with others. He had spent much of his life trying in vain for a complete apathy that he knew was both insane and damaging.

Caring meant weakness. Caring meant setting oneself up to be harmed, to be vulnerable, something he was very much against. Weakness had always, his entire life, been the equivalent of death. People fell to his sword because they had a vulnerability, because they were human and made errors. To nullify that problem, he had forced himself to become impenetrable, unreadable. If there was no flinch, a bluff could not be detected, a sword would not be stopped. It would succeed.

Vincent had barriers, but they were flimsy. He was readable because he still cared far too much. It was unhealthy to be a SOLDIER and have a good amount of conscience; the two were not miscible, though Angeal faired quite well, Sephiroth conceded. So did Zack, for that matter, though his was likely due to an unbreakable optimism and hopefulness. Vincent could as well, if he overcame the things that were restraining him.

There had been a long silence before Sephiroth spoke, "As for your strengths, appreciate them. Learn to use them to your advantage. Do not overestimate them, of course, but know that they are there at your disposal."

"What if you're not completely sure of your strengths?" Vincent questioned, thinking of Chaos.

"What are you unsure about?"

"Well, what if I am wrong? What if I overestimate, like you said?" He couldn't help but think that Chaos was virtually indestructible, particularly after the way it had battled so well with Sephiroth. But like anything, he realized that Chaos too had its limits.

"If you are approaching it from an objective stand point, being realistic, then there should be nothing to concern yourself over. Instinct will dictate to you, ego will try to sway you; it is simply a matter of balancing the two and finding where reality is situated."

Vincent gave a nod of his head, smiling a little. "So what is your weakness?" He knew it wasn't exactly a question he should ask Sephiroth, but from what he had asked so far, he didn't think the man would get angry.

Sephiroth's look was enigmatic. "I am too focused," he said simply.

"You mean you concentrate too much on one thing?"

"Yes. As a consequence I can easily miss something important that lies outside of that interest." there was a brief few seconds of silence, the green eyes roving over the expanse of ocean on the horizon. He debated what he was about to say. "I overestimate," Sephiroth said indulgently. His face was blank when he said it, but the tone sounded amused.

Vincent hadn't expected the candidness, grateful that Sephiroth did not seem to mind the question.

"I don't think you can overestimate," Vincent said after a moment. He could feel the heat coming back to his face, but ignored it. "Especially if you know it's a weakness."

Sephiroth gave a short laugh, one that still sounded hollow, but was void of bitterness. "You would be surprised."

Vincent didn't hide his interest, but he refrained from asking another question. Sephiroth moved back to talking of skill, discarding the former conversation.

"When you strike, keep the length of your arm straighter; it will allow you more strength behind each slash. I noticed you are avoiding catching the sword between the breaks in the metal, which is what you should be doing, however, instead of curling in your hand, try blocking even more at an angle. It will allow you more speed while still brushing the opponent's blade aside. The claws can remain extended, which will also save you time, particularly if you plan an offensive move."

Sephiroth stepped forward, pulling up Vincent's gauntlet covered arm with a gloved hand. He moved it to the position he had been speaking of, holding it steady. The angle was much more severe than what Vincent had been using.

Vincent couldn't help but tense, though he managed to keep himself from flinching.

"Hold that stance," Sephiroth ordered, backing away several feet, then withdrawing Masamune. He moved the blade to the top of the gauntlet, slowly sliding it downward, the metal zinging slightly. "You see?"

Vincent nodded. "Then I can strike..." he commented from behind his black hair.

Masamune grazed off of the gauntlet entirely, then came swinging toward Vincent, who deflected it with a harsh blow, causing sparks. He was shocked by how quickly he had reacted, but he had no time to think it over as Sephiroth began to attack relentlessly.

They were fighting again in a flurry of metal, silver streaking in long, graceful curves, while gold slashed erratically in offense. Sephiroth moved in, unexpectedly grabbing Vincent by the collar of his shirt, then swinging him around. Masamune ended up resting across the boy's shoulders.

"Be prepared for anything, at all times," Sephiroth stated. The sword rested on the material over his back for a minute, before withdrawing.

Vincent turned to face Sephiroth, not wasting the perfect opening. He lashed out with the five claws at his disposal, hesitation lost as instinct started to take over. The action spoke louder than words, and caused Sephiroth to give yet another rare smile for a brief instant.

He tried his hardest to move swiftly, remembering the way he moved as Chaos. Learning to use the gauntlet would also help him later when he transformed; the two were interconnected.

Sephiroth never struck him with Masamune, even when his blocks were too late. The man seemed to be acutely aware of when or when not to deliver a powerful hit.

The pace soon had him breathing harder again, as he parried, right arm held close to his body. He had not brought the new gun, as Sephiroth had told him he wouldn't be needing it. He knew if he did well with the gun, then he could learn to shoot during a block, as his right hand was never occupied. Close combat would be much less challenging if he was able to use two different types of weapons at once. Accuracy was something he wondered about though; the power of the gun would probably cause a lot of recoil and alter his aim for the worse. He would just have to see.

Sephiroth returned Masamune to his back in a blur. Instead of stopping, he came rushing toward Vincent without a weapon. The boy was apprehensive to attack, but had no choice as deft hands came toward him. Each time he tried to slash, one of Sephiroth's forearms managed to bluntly deflect him, escaping away unscathed. The man would catch the gauntlet right at the elbow, warding off the deadly claws.

The fighting was much more unpredictable. Instead of watching for the glint of Masamune, he had to vigilantly observe Sephiroth's entire body. He repeatedly was struck by gloved hands as he tried to keep up, each time nearly getting the wind knocked out of him. It was frightening to think how much it would hurt had the man not been consciously minimizing the damage he inflicted. He knew he would have bruises from the encounter, but he did his best not to appear as though he was in pain, only striking through it, trying to leave his own mark.

Sephiroth grabbed him by the gauntlet as he was about to claw at the man's torso. The grip was strong, relentless. He was twisted around with ease, weapon covered arm held to his back, against Sephiroth, though he couldn't feel it. Another gloved hand went to his throat, and his posture went rigid. He could feel the man behind him breathing, while long silken strands tickled his free right hand.

He immediately tried to snatch at anything with his one unrestrained arm, but that caused the grip on his neck to tighten uncomfortably. He was all too aware of how warm the body behind him was, and how hot breath blew through his hair agonizingly soft, but still moving his bangs slightly. He would have been scared had it been anyone else.

"Now what do you do?" Sephiroth asked, sounding as he always did. Vincent didn't see the shadow of darkness that passed over the intense, burning eyes for an instant.

"I try to get free," Vincent said, hitting Sephiroth in the side with his arm. He didn't do it hard, but enough to make a point.

"If this were real, how would you struggle free?"

"I'd—"

"Don't tell me, just do it. Take this as seriously as if it were occurring right now. I give you my full permission to strike me as hard as you are capable," Sephiroth stated, tone unreadable. But black slits were looking down at the boy almost predatorily, edged with a recklessness that seemed out of character.

Vincent took a breath, somewhat nervous. It felt like yet another test.

Instead of kicking, he unexpectedly wrenched his left arm in an attempt to get it loose, curling in the tapered fingers, trying to get to skin. But he only succeeded in making the iron-like hand that held him in place push the gauntlet harder into his small back. Vincent winced, feeling the claws press into his own skin, drawing blood.

"I am stronger. In order to beat me you have to outsmart me," Sephiroth explained, "Catch me unprepared."

Vincent kicked at him particularly hard, aiming for somewhere around the man's knee. Sephiroth showed no sign of being affected, not even making any sounds of discomfort from the pain that he must have felt.

Vincent wanted to get free, he needed to. He was already doing everything in his power to keep himself from pushing back against the leather and warm skin behind him. A lock of the silver hair had fallen over his shoulder, and each time he moved, it ghosted across his face, tantalizing.

It smelled like Sephiroth, the leather and faint scent of sweat, along with something that belonged to the man uniquely. It was the scent that had been on his pillow when he had woken up in the lower levels of the labs. He remembered it.

His clothes were not concealing in the least, and he was already...quite affected.

Frustration marked his wriggling, as he tried to find a weakness in the grasp. Though he had been able to move his right arm before, the one wrapped around him had moved lower, locking the shoulder tight to his body so that he couldn't swing it outward as he formerly had been able.

He let out a groan halfway between anger and desire, his fury beginning to get the best of him. He tried to hit Sephiroth again with his leg, only to find that it was as ineffective as ever. He threw his head back, sending it harshly into the bare chest behind him, which caused a low, mocking laugh to emit from the man. It reverberated deep from within the chest, perfectly seductive, though Vincent knew that wasn't what it was intended to be. His mind had a way of distorting things.

"Is that the best you can do?" Sephiroth teased, causing Vincent to breathe a little more laboredly.

It was all a game to the General, just a lesson, but Vincent found himself getting more aroused from the voice, particularly when it had an the edge of playfulness he was sure he had never heard in it before. It was mocking, but not cruel, as though somehow it was on his side, vying for a reaction, for success.

Unexpected?

Vincent couldn't help but smile.

There was an explosion of brightness, far overpowering the rays of the sun. Streaked with reds and the occasional black, it was so forceful that the green eyes behind Vincent closed, though the grip had tightened substantially. Silver hair was sent back by the wind, wildly flying from the regal face.

The body became harder to hold as it expanded, suddenly winged and crowned in maroon. The light evaporated quickly, like a foreboding mist, as the yellow eyes opened.

Sephiroth hadn't released Vincent, his first reaction to stop Chaos from so much as leaving, to attempt to restrain it. He needed it where he could see it, as its wings could take it almost anywhere.

Sephiroth was hit with the blow of a fist before he had time to react, forced to let go as wings were torn from his hold in a whirlwind of red and black. Vincent moved away from him in a blink, hovering over the gound.

When Vincent turned, he easily heard the distinct sound of a blade.

The General's eyes flashed with confusion, though he held Masamune at his side with a certainty. He was running over his options.

Vincent exhaled from the expansive chest, smirking with his new fanged teeth. "You said unexpected," he said, flexing his left hand.

The gauntlet had somehow remained on, though it appeared to be...altered. It no longer stretched over the length of much of his arm, but instead stopped at the wrist. His claws were now made of metal. He could only hope that it was temporary, and that the weapon had not been permanently changed. Though, he realized, metal talons were far better than natural ones.

Sephiroth's almost indiscernible frown of disbelief and concern disappeared without a trace.

"Vincent?"

* * *

A/N: We ALL know Sephiroth is just denying the inevitable....


	31. Burned

**A/N:**I almost didn't post today, but I love you all so much, I did it anyway :) Thanks to: SapphireMateria, NicotineGum, bakimono, KT, Marezules (I answer your question in the notes at the end ;)), OvenBased, whatevergirl, kiralover44, tokidokilove, Gismo1, CaseyAnn'sPrecious, SilverWhitePoison, Identity Crysis, -CNFB-, simply anonymous, and eclipse ze lunachic!

I give many hints as to why Sephiroth has been so distant from Vincent, and a glimpse of the unrest and mental instability he has long been dealing with. I tried to keep him as in character as possible, but who knows.

* * *

"Yes, it's me," Vincent answered, the voice different, darker somehow.

"You transformed at will," Sephiroth observed, taking a few steps closer. He spoke more to himself than to Vincent, his green eyes tracing over the form of Chaos.

The man with fewer barriers was entirely gone. Something stoical stood in his place, as much a transformation as Vincent to Chaos. There was a cool atmosphere to him, one that Vincent detected immediately.

It was the boy's nonchalant attitude toward the change that made Sephiroth aware that this must have happened before. The boy also know enough about it to be capable of implementing it with relative ease.

Sephiroth was unlike many in that he was extremely adaptable; he had to be, it was a necessity of his job. It was surprising, however, that the boy had somehow learned to use the WEAPON. It was something he had considered, but from a very theoretical standpoint, not all that seriously. Though the Protomateria kept Chaos dormant, the monster still probably should have been the one in control of its own form or been able to shift the consciousness in the event of a transformation, overruling Vincent. Obviously, that was not the case.

"How many times have you been able to change?" Sephiroth asked, observing the yellow eyes intently.

He could feel the guilt beginning to rise as he looked at the monster in front of him, the thing with the teeth and claws of a carnivore and the mind of a teenage boy.

He had made Vincent into it, even if it had been accidental.... That thought turned his emotions to stone.

"This is the fourth time, I think," Vincent answered. He could see the wings at his side, the way the wind pushed at the thin, delicate looking membrane.

All of the feelings of relaxation in the presence of Sephiroth were falling away quickly, even the arousal. The man had turned back to a wall of impenetrable ice. It seriously dampened his formerly good mood within moments.

Sephiroth nodded, eyes assessing in that calculating way of his. He had come much closer, standing directly in front of Vincent.

"Did it happen by accident?" he questioned, already knowing the answer.

Part of him did not want to know what had caused 'the accident'. Chances were Vincent had been upset. It did not seem all too plausible that Chaos would manifest itself for no reason in particular. The boy must have been in a vulnerable state. It was something he had been concerned over, one of the main reasons he had elected to keep Vincent isolated for a short while; Chaos was completely unpredictable. But for all he knew, it _could _have happened randomly or been triggered by something else, though logic dictated otherwise.

"Yes," Vincent said quietly, his eyes darting to his clawed hand. "Then when I tried to do it on purpose...it just happened," he explained.

"It could be...very useful," Sephiroth commented. He had returned to expressionless, speech without inflection.

The anger rose without warning, curling in Vincent's chest. The words stung.

For some reason, Vincent knew the man was hiding something. He could tell from the abruptness of the coldness, the way it had just emerged immediately when the man was faced with something that required some sort of emotional response. He was mad suddenly that Sephiroth couldn't even be honest with him when he needed it.

Arousal was quickly forgotten, drowned out by rage.

"Useful?" Vincent said, as if tasting the word, his voice wavering slightly.

Sephiroth averted his gaze, jaw tightening just enough that Vincent noticed. "I never intended this." He paused, considering his words, "But if it must be this way, then at least it is you who is in control," he stated lowly, eyes returning to Vincent's.

Vincent stayed as he was, his clawed hand clenching somewhat. Sephiroth had not planned it, but it had still happened. It was easy to forget when his mind was clouded by the influence of hormones, but not so easy when he was standing in front of Sephiroth in the body of Chaos. He wanted to forgive, at least enough to put it behind him, but it was clear he was not yet ready to do that. The anger came and went as it chose, fickle as the wind.

"You will need to learn to use it," Sephiroth continued, when Vincent didn't respond. "Practice with it as you would any weapon."

Vincent only looked at him, no longer the boy, but something else entirely. He was struggling internally, part of him angry at Sephiroth's emotionlessness, the other mad about Chaos, but yet logic told him he needed to just get over it and accept it for what it was. He had more or less accepted Chaos, now he needed to accept that Sephiroth was the inadvertent cause of it, and that he wasn't about to comfort him.

"Yes," he agreed, through gritted teeth, yellow eyes glowing.

"We can continue with the lesson, or we can stop now. It is entirely your choice."

Vincent tried to shake off the weaker part of him that was hurt by Sephiroth's insensitivity. "We keep going," he said with certainty, speaking out over the voice he didn't want to hear.

Sephiroth could feel his own resolve beginning to wane. Instinct told him to back off, while emotions told him he was being far too harsh, that his businesslike words would be taken as thoughtlessness, apathy. He shouldn't have cared, but he did. Even as Chaos, there was that whisper of vulnerability about Vincent, the same one that had made holding the smaller body against him feel both right and incredibly wrong.

He could teach the boy or he could protect him, but he knew that either way his feelings were becoming corrupted. Protection would likely cause just as much damage, if not more than pure, feigned apathy. If he got too close....

How many times had he broken something, then tossed it aside? How easy had it been? It was only a matter of time before he took the same course with Vincent, if he allowed himself to be concerned, to stretch beyond simple worry. But somehow he already knew he had long ago surpassed that point.

That was just it though, he had never cared. It had never mattered. It had been nothing but a lesson, a show to some fresh-faced young SOLDIER that the world wasn't a pretty face, that idols weren't heroic or loving. They took just like everybody else, because life was all about sacrifice. Without sacrifice, there would be nothing. His sacrifice was to forget that he was human, to teach it to others, while theirs was to lose the last thread of innocence to make them better suited to the job, to killing. Everyone had to lose something, it was just a matter of time.

They had always been willing, far too much so. It made it easy, but it made it painful. Sephiroth did not like to be in the business of breaking people, but it was for the best, it was for a lesson. It was to take those that were sycophantic and mentally weak and turn them to stone. Make them something. He had regretted it, but when he saw those same SOLDIERs becoming the ones that were the most revered, the strongest, the most unbreakable, he knew it was what had been intended.

He was not what he seemed, he never had been. The apathy was much farther reaching than he let anyone know. His secrets were many. But even he could not explain what compelled him to want to preserve a weakness in Vincent, one that could easily kill the boy. He cared, he cared too much. He should have been able to care enough to help Vincent, help him shed morality and sympathy but instead he only wanted to keep him as Angeal had managed to keep Zack. To preserve what was there instead of crushing it.

Crushing weakness was the kindest sympathy he could pay to any SOLDIER, regardless of how cruel it seemed, but when it came to Vincent, he faltered, questioning the method, wondering what it would do to the boy who was so much like him yet so different. He did not want Vincent to become him, that much he knew.

Sephiroth had already felt the stirrings of something. He had been avoiding it, but he had grown a desire for that vulnerability, the way it made the boy so unsure, yet kept him loving and caring, benevolent. Yet underneath it all there was this thing, this Chaos, a darkness. It had been there even before the monsters had, and now it was festering, taking over like a cancer. He could see it in the way Vincent looked at him, the hurt turning to anger.

He pretended not to notice, not to see when the boy looked at him so curiously, or the way he had started to shiver slightly when in his grasp, pressed against the chest, trapped. By ignoring it, by disregarding every small feeling the boy felt, he was helping blacken the good. He could not allow that to happen. He would not break that perfect vulnerability. Let someone else do it, let them die trying.

Vincent had looked to the ground, yellow eyes closed for a moment, waiting patiently for instruction.

"Vincent," Sephiroth addressed through the silence.

The tone was different, entirely different. Vincent glanced up, unable to ignore it.

Green eyes were watching him. There was a sorrow there, one that he had long suspected to be hidden behind the walls of iron security. Sephiroth was open, exposed, and he was letting him know it.

"Don't let this be your ruin," Sephiroth said quietly, his tone edged with regret. "I did not save you only to watch you suffer and fall."

Vincent let out a strangled breath, unable to hold the gaze that was on him. "I know," he answered in a whisper.

"Then why are you allowing it?" Sephiroth questioned.

He had bridged the distance between them, his hand moving to the face of Chaos, one that was also distinctly that of Vincent. He pushed the chin up gently, making certain the boy was staring him directly in the eye.

Vincent could feel Sephiroth's warm breath again, this time brushing over his lips in moist puffs as the man exhaled. He was instantly reminded of how much he wanted Sephiroth to touch him, as his body suddenly felt shaky, wings fluttering a little. It was all so terribly confusing, everything blended together to the point that he could scarely comprehend what he felt.

"I'm not like you..." Vincent breathed, "but I want to be," he confessed, unable to avoid the perfect, cat-like eyes that were inches from his own.

Sephiroth's face was shadowed for a moment, distorted with an anger, one that wasn't directed at Vincent. "The last thing you should ever want is to be _anything_ like me."

Vincent swallowed, looking pained. "I'd give anything to bury it all away, like I know you do."

Sephiroth frowned, the expression looking out of place on his normally blank face. "You can throw a pile of rubble on top of it to conceal it, Vincent, but that does not mean it is gone. It is there, it will always be there. It will build, and build...then it will seek release. I was wrong trying to force that on you; it is not your way. You will feel no matter what I tell you, no matter how accomplished you become at forcing it into darkness. It will not go away for you."

Vincent seemed embarrassed, trying in vain to keep his eyes from the ones he knew were telling the truth. The hand was holding him by the jaw, not letting go, gentle, but forceful, as Sephiroth always seemed to be with him. The mix of the caring hero and the apathetic SOLDIER. Vincent believed Sephiroth didn't know what he was, that he was so much better than he thought himself.

"I can't be like this and still be okay," Vincent said, hating himself, all the weakness.

"Yes you can. Just like Zack, just like Angeal. You do not have to be me to survive."

Sephiroth knew his words were only half true, that sooner or later, everyone had a breaking point. Some just took longer than others, making the process all the more painful, all the more damaging. But he would keep that to himself.

Vincent tried to turn his head, but found he couldn't. Sephiroth relinquished him, stepping back, giving the boy space. He was both saddened and grateful that the man had released him, wanting to stand on his own in both the literal and figurative sense, while the boy in him yearned for the comfort in the smallest of touches.

He knew that Sephiroth could see through every weakness, he was certain of it now. Whatever doubt there had been had faded away from the certainty behind the man's words. Sephiroth indeed knew him better than he himself did. He told him the things he was unwilling to admit to himself, the facts that burned at his brain.

Vincent was so afraid of what would happen if he did not learn to curb the feelings he had, his morality, his need to do right. It had been a mistake to join SOLDIER, he knew that in a way, but he was determined to follow through with it, to dedicate his life to something, even if there would never be a time when he _didn't_ question it.

Yes, he could be like Zack or Angeal. He didn't know if he would be capable, but he could try. Killing while regretting, was that what he was condemned to? Would it hurt every time, or would it numb somewhat at least? He didn't know. But for some reason, it was okay. He didn't have to be a villain, he didn't have to do everything he was told, he never _had _to. Like Sephiroth had said before, it was his choice.

He could live with that.

Sephiroth's piercing eyes had not left Vincent. He was not interrupting, only standing by quietly, a strong, yet somehow comforting presence. He knew the boy was trying to compose himself, think things through.

"I'm going to try," Vincent found himself saying.

Sephiroth only nodded, his eyes relaying everything in swirling, conflicting green. It was his way of saying he approved.

* * *

They had left the beach not long after. The heat was getting to be too much, and Sephiroth had suggested that they continue the training session later in the afternoon when the heat died down somewhat.

They spoke nothing more of what had occurred, Sephiroth quiet and withdrawn again, disappearing for quite awhile. Vincent had long left the body of Chaos behind, and went and took a long shower, feeling lighter somehow, though he was confused by how much care Sephiroth had shown. He had wanted it, he had wanted it more than anything, he realized.

Just when he was beginning to think that Sephiroth only saw him as another Third, he wondered if the man actually thought of him as something more akin to a friend. It was more than Vincent had ever suspected would come of their relationship, though he was still doubtful of it. Sephiroth cared, but that didn't mean he thought of him like he did Angeal or Zack, even if he had used them as a comparison.

He wanted to believe it, but he also didn't want to expect too much and set himself up to be taken down. He would take everything cautiously as always, and not suddenly pretend as though anything were different.

He towel dried his hair, then changed into a new set of clothes for the time being, enjoying that they smelled fresh for once, unsoiled. As he looked at his reflection, he brushed his hair aside, looking at the black locks that dangled just below his chin. He had decided to stop cutting it, to grow it out. He had kept it short as a child because it had been what all the boys did, and he had not wanted to get teased for being one with longer hair.

When he had been on his own, without the guiding hand of anyone, he had joined up, and left such worries far behind. He would never be the one people would seek, he had never been the friend anyone confided in, or even a friend at all, and for once it had ceased to matter. He had learned to love being alone, to take solace in the fact that he was able to stand independently, when no one else appeared to be willing. People stuck together out of a fear of never having someone to stand behind them, to protect them, to have someone to confide in. Vincent had thought that he would never need it, yet he felt himself desiring that from Sephiroth. He wanted the man to be there, to be the one that made life more bearable, even if it was just as a friend—if he could have that at all.

Yes, he would grow it out. He had kept it at his chin for the sake of easiness, particularly when he was allotted so little time to take care of aesthetic things. It was the longest he had ever had it, seeming foreign to the buzzes he had gotten used to while still enrolled in school. He wanted something different, something to acknowledge the change that had taken place.

* * *

Sephiroth was at the edge of the waves, perched on a large black boulder. He did not sit, liking that his height allowed him to stare down into the depths of the water, where it rolled in tunnel-like waves, deadly below the surface.

The crashes of frothy water against the shoreline were thunderous on that part of the beach, enough to make his head pound, sensitive hearing in overload. It was so loud he could hardly think, which was just what he wanted in that moment.

But it made no difference. It would not go away, and ignoring it was but more evidence to prove that he was into everything far deeper than he had intended to be.

Sephiroth had made many mistakes, and it was certain that he would continue to make them. He could not bring himself to loathe his own recklessness, or the selfishness of what he was doing. He wanted it, and he always got what he wanted, one way or another. But it would cost Vincent...it would cost him so much more.

He closed his eyes, feeling the mist of the ocean breathing onto his face with each roar of the waves.

He had wanted Vincent, had been wanting him. A darker part wanted to corrupt, while another wanted to protect and shelter. Something in him seemed to believe that in saving Vincent he would also be saving himself. That was the other aspect of everything, the underlying self-serving reason.

It would go too far; that was inevitable. He could not stop himself, not with Vincent. There was something there, whether it was fleeting or temporary, it was strong enough to make him extremely hyper aware. The coldness could not block off everything, could not stave off whatever heat had begun to build, growing steadily warmer, more pleasant.

He wanted to tear apart that innocence, yet at the same time he wanted to horde it.

* * *

**A/N:** In case you were all wondering, I've been giving subtle little clues as to what Sephiroth was feeling about Vincent if you looked closely enough. Still might feel too abrupt though; feel free to share your opinion. Next chapter is not smut. Probably chapter after that though.... I look forward to it :D


	32. Heartless?

**A/N:** I updated early. :D My reviewers...damn I would not have made it this far without you! This story was supposed to be 12 chapters long, at MOST. We're like barely halfway done.... Thanks to NicotineGum, Marezuls, OvenBased, CaseyAnn'sPrecious, kiralover44, Gismo1, -CNFB-, eclipse ze lunachic, bakimono, whatevergirl, and Fairy-Rune !

* * *

It was hours before Sephiroth returned.

Vincent tried not to concern himself over where the man had gone, but couldn't quite help it. He was restless, going to the kitchen to make something to eat, then walking over the door while it cooked, wanting to go outside and search for him. The General's room was empty, so there was no other place he could be except for outside.

He finally realized that Sephiroth wasn't coming back for awhile, and was vaguely disgusted by how easily he had let himself fixate on the man so much. He tried to tell himself that nothing had changed, that Sephiroth was just being nice to him and would be back to cold and distant once again. He didn't want to believe it, but logic and pessimism were making him disregard the feelings of the boy in him that wanted acceptance. The one that wanted a friend.

The door opened quietly, Sephiroth slipping inside almost like a shadow, the black trenchcoat drifting in the doorway behind him. He closed the door silently, obviously somewhere else, distracted. Vincent looked up at him from the soup he had been eating, offering a small smile.

Sephiroth did not smile back, though he inclined his head.

It only took a few seconds for Vincent to feel his chest compressing in on itself, clenching. His heart palpitated, each beat painful as he squeezed the spoon he had been using tightly. Nothing had changed. Every little bit of hope had disintegrated from that one gesture, allowing him to know that he had let his imagination go too far again. He hated it.

But instead of walking away, Sephiroth came over toward where Vincent was sitting, his movements slow, purposeful. He didn't stop in front of the table, but instead at the boy's side.

Vincent watched the man, his soup more or less forgotten. He couldn't look him in the eye, however, too worried his feelings were showing all too apparently. He didn't know why Sephiroth had approached him.

"Why does it hurt you so much?"

The crestfallen expression had not escaped Sephiroth's attention. He was both drawn to it in the sense of wanting to make it go away, while at the same time, finding a bit of pleasure in the fact that it was he who was the cause of it.

Vincent was strong in some ways, then fragile in others. One blank expression and the boy lost his confidence. It was alluring, but it was also dangerous. Sephiroth ignored the danger, allowing himself to latch onto the vulnerability, to quench his own need for it. His desire for it.

The boy's dark eyes had moved back to the food in front of him, as he seemed to struggle with what to say. Sephiroth's own held an amusement that made Vincent feel some discomfort. The man thought it was funny.

"I'm sorry," was all he could say, his voice soft, childlike to his own ears.

He wasn't even sure if he was apologizing for the right thing. Was the General talking about earlier, or about now? He didn't have time to think about it, as a black-clad hand pushed a lock of hair from blocking his vision. His entire posture went rigid instantaneously, though the touch had been barely there, only a whisper.

His eyes darted to Sephiroth's, filled with confusion and an almost pleading that made the man laugh lowly. The sound was comforting, not dark in any way from what Vincent could tell. He took that as encouragement, his expression of tension relaxing the smallest bit. Maybe he wasn't laughing at him.

The hand returned, bypassing his hair, and letting an index finger run down his jaw line. It lightly felt over the skin, almost exploratory. Vincent had begun to panic, nervousness suddenly back at full force. But it felt good, even though it was hardly anything. He couldn't help but let his eyes almost close trustingly, as the finger stopped at his neck, rubbing the little patch that had a pulse beating beneath.

Vincent didn't know what to think. He could hardly think anyway; the touch was maddening, making everything that seemed so important only seconds before just disappear, burned out by the sensation of having someone lay a hand on him without the intent to harm.

It wasn't happening, that was his first reaction. There was no logical explanation as to why Sephiroth would be touching him so slowly, or on the face especially, seeming to make it pleasurable on purpose. It wasn't a chaste gesture, at least not to Vincent, not when the finger went in a circular motion then started to trail down his neck, the cool leather heating from the waves of warmth that were radiating off of his own skin.

Sephiroth was bending down suddenly, moving toward Vincent's level. There was the slight creak of leather boots as the man knelt to make up for the difference in height. Silver hair pooled over his small shoulder, so long that it curled in his lap. It looked stark draped over his black clothes, and he could feel the silkiness of it, as one stray section landed on top of the hand he had resting in his lap. The man's face was on the other side of his own, chin just over his shoulder. The gloved hand that wasn't touching his neck went to his arm, holding onto it gently, yet somehow possessively as though to not allow him to get away.

Vincent's breathing was halted, and he was so tense that his hands were clenched, knuckles white. He could feel the other man next to him, the small little gusts of air coming from his nostrils and tickling his neck just as badly if not more so than the skillful fingers that smoothed over it.

_Why is Sephiroth doing this?_ Vincent thought, trying to concentrate on something besides the way his body was reacting, all pleasure beginning to focus at one central part.

"You think I did not know?" Sephiroth teased, his voice so quiet that it made Vincent shiver.

Vincent could hear the smile through the words, making them all the more seductive. But his face instantly reddened at the implication of the words, at what he thought they meant. He had to be wrong, Sephiroth had to be talking about something else.... He couldn't know....

"Screaming is not the only thing you do in your sleep, Vincent," Sephiroth breathed, his face pushing into the boy's ebony hair, lips hardly an inch from the flesh of his neck. "Screaming is a habit that will have to be broken, but the moaning and whimpering...those can stay."

Vincent's eyes shut completely in humiliation, yet at the same time he was thrilled. Sephiroth _liked_ it. Sephiroth had just admitted that he enjoyed it. Everything seemed far too complicated for him to process.

The fact that Sephiroth knew he was dreaming something sexual was enough to make him want to fade into the background, but the way the man was so close negated any desire to get away from the situation. He reminded himself again, Sephiroth _liked_ it.

He couldn't help but think that Sephiroth was only toying with him, that it could all be some sort of game. He wasn't stupid; he knew the man could have whoever he wanted, man or woman. So why him? Why had Sephiroth suddenly shown an interest in him? But it was all too difficult to think about, took too much effort....

The lips grazed against his skin, just above the touch of the fingers, perfectly agonizing.

"Why are you doing this?" Vincent asked finally, his voice almost too quiet to hear, though Sephiroth managed fine.

Sephiroth left one kiss on his neck, the movement so slow and measured that Vincent did let out a whimper. He could feel the slight wetness of it, the stickiness of saliva.

"It's what you want..." Sephiroth answered, bringing out a slight noise of surprise as he kissed at the pounding little pulse, while his fingers rubbed at Vincent's jaw, tracing over the shape of his face.

Another kiss. "Yes?" Sephiroth questioned.

Vincent pushed his head closer to the man next to him boldly in response, rewarded by feeling eyelashes flutter across his cheek for a brief instant. He didn't trust himself to speak.

He finally caught a glimpse of the turbulent sea green eyes. They were clouded over with a darkness that made him feel a sort of foreboding, those black pupils relaying possessiveness. He didn't realize that his own maroon ones were filled with desire and helplessness, things that made Sephiroth more aggressive.

"But you are afraid," Sephiroth observed, pulling away enough that he could see all of Vincent's face. His fingers had stopped moving, resting at the base of the boy's neck, as though he would strangle him.

Vincent's eyes gave him away, as he looked down at Sephiroth's hair, avoiding the penetrating gaze.

"You should be."

Sephiroth rose to his feet, then, his long coat barely making a sound. The long shimmering hair was pulled away, as his hand fell from Vincent's arm while the other slowly relinquished the pale, white throat. The movements were abrupt to Vincent, who was still completely lost in the touch that had been there only seconds before.

Green stared down at him, the face blank, emotionless.

Vincent could feel something radiating off of Sephiroth, and a brooding beneath the surface, but he did not know what either meant.

* * *

Training was...strained. At least on Vincent's part. Again, he only worked with the gauntlet, doing his best to keep up with the string of attacks that the man unleashed.

He had spent a few hours thinking about what had happened, about what it meant. He was hurt, that he couldn't deny. He felt like had been taken along only to be let down as he had thought he would be. Was it all just a game to Sephiroth? Did he still mean nothing to him?

He couldn't help but think that Sephiroth might have done it to test him, to see how he would react. But the man's words had seemed so perfect, so right.... Was it just a lie? Was he trying to tear away all the weakness Vincent had shown by punishing him?

Sephiroth was back to nothingness, though it wasn't icy like it had been when Vincent had transformed unexpectedly. He almost couldn't bear it, shoulders slumping even though he shouldn't have yet been tired, as the length of glinting, metallic sword flew at him from an angle. Sephiroth didn't care, that was all he could think. It was just another test, a mercy that he knew would hurt less in the long run. If he gave it all up now, it wouldn't be so bad, not as bad if Sephiroth reciprocated his own feelings then abandoned him.

There was desperation in Vincent's own strikes, as he tried to keep everything repressed. He knew he shouldn't, but there was nothing he could do about it. He wouldn't be humiliated by Sephiroth a second time, he couldn't deal with that. Once was quite enough to last a lifetime.

Sephiroth smiled suddenly, wielding Masamune particularly viciously. The smile became cruel when Vincent managed to block it, then slashed just underneath the sword, missing the man's coat by mere inches.

Vincent was fighting angrily, whether he realized it or not. Watching him was something Sephiroth was enjoying, the way the boy frowned, but his eyes were softened inadvertently. He was trying in vain to overcome all the turmoil that must have been going on inside.

It was not good to strain the boy in an emotional way, but Sephiroth enjoyed it too much to let go of his control so soon. He wanted Vincent aware of what it felt like to want something and not be able to have it. It was also a reflection of his own shortcomings, his incapability to love or cherish. It was not his way and would never be. If Vincent wanted to pursue something he would have to learn quickly that things would _never_ be easy. The boy could not expect him to shower him in attention or carefully navigate all of his feelings; that was simply not how it worked.

Sephiroth hated relationships, which was precisely why there would never be one. He belonged to no one, had loyalties to no lover, and did not believe in monogamy. He knew Vincent was too sensitive to last long with such arrangements, but he had enough faith in his own abilities to believe that he could keep the boy relatively unscathed, with that precious vulnerability still intact. It would just be a matter of balancing his usual apathy with proof of concern when he could show it. But he would not change, not for anyone, not even the raven haired boy that he had murdered Hojo for.

Sephiroth did not think about Angeal, what the man would say about it, how disappointed he would be. After all, Angeal knew nothing of the line of Thirds that had broken then cast aside as though they were worthless. He wasn't even aware that Sephiroth had any sexual thoughts or inclinations; it had been something Sephiroth had been forced to keep hidden, particularly when the injections were at their worst....

He had often hinted that Sephiroth should try to find a woman to spend his time with, never realizing that his friend's time was already occupied more than he probably needed. It was one thing Angeal was blind to, something that had always intrigued Sephiroth. The man cared about him too much to see what was right in front of him.

And Genesis.... It wasn't as though he didn't do the same thing in his spare time. He had more or less told Sephiroth that he knew where he went at night. Secrets were everywhere, in everything. It seemed as though honesty was beyond scarce, extinct in fact.

He had tried women. But it was rare for his reaction to be anything besides annoyance or disappointment. They were too fragile, too motherly, regardless of their occupations. It always felt the same, emotions too obvious, too clean cut, utterly predictable and boring. Even the stronger ones still did not bring emotional reactions from him that he found in SOLDIERs.

Women who started out interesting always came back to that same point that he hated, that attachment. It was only in whores that there was ever a good amount of understanding; they did not expect to be treated well, and they would never learn to care for him. They made it clear, he made it clear. That was the only way such a thing ever worked.

That's why he was surprised by his feelings for Vincent, whatever they were. He was emotional, too much so. But there was a darkness there that the women almost never seemed to have, something that was always there, regardless of how helpless the boy seemed. It was ruthlessness. Vincent _was_ capable, he just needed to be pushed, forced. There was something frightening trapped inside that small body, a deep hatred that if it ever found direction, would easily rid him of any residual innocence. It would turn him into something heartless and broken, if the boy let it. It would turn him into Sephiroth.

"I think that is enough for today," Sephiroth stated, sword coming to rest at his side.

Vincent stopped as well, breathing heavily, black hair sticking to his temples. He wasn't looking at Sephiroth, but more away from him, his dark red eyes darting to the ocean where the waves were rising and falling.

It wasn't half so hot out, nearly sunset. Colors were starting to spread across the horizon, soft and beautiful. It wasn't quite pink yet, more orange and red, though the few sparse clouds had pink tinges to their edges. There was a nice strong wind as well, one that sent Sephiroth's mane of hair rushing past his face to float around his sides, the strands shining in the light.

Vincent nodded, the movement sluggish, as his attention was directed inward. He did not notice that Sephiroth had moved toward him, nearly soundless even on the rocks. It wasn't until a lock of silver hair flew across his vision that he realized the General was standing beside him.

The back of a gloved hand smoothed over his face once, the gesture so caring, a contrast to the fighting. It retreated quickly though, as though it did not find enjoyment in touching him, or was waiting for a reaction.

"Are..." Vincent started, only to loose his nerve. He swallowed, unable to catch the green eyes that were looking into him as though they could see through him, past him. "It's just a game to you, isn't it? A test? I don't understand what you want me to do. I thought...."

"What do you want, Vincent?" Sephiroth asked, his hand was resting on the small shoulder, heavy, cumbersome.

"I..." He couldn't bring himself to say it. He was afraid of how the man would respond, worried about being rejected, even though he knew he needed to be in order to stop what was happening to him.

It all had to be a game. Sephiroth was being cruel, mocking him. That had to be it. But he was doing it to help him, even if it seemed so terrible, wasn't he? Or did he want to hurt him? Suddenly Vincent wasn't sure.

"Say it." The tone was demanding. Vincent had never really given an answer to his earlier question, and he wanted one.

Vincent finally tore his eyes from the horizon. It was almost physically painful to look into those eyes, the ones the held amusement and coldness and a veiled desire all at the same time. It was so confusing, made so little sense.

"I want you," Vincent conceded, letting out a shaky breath.

* * *

A/N: Expect a 2-3 day delay. I am a nitpicker when in comes to sex scenes. This will be my second slash ever too, so..uh...yeah. Any protests? Too fast, etc.? Feel free to tell me.


	33. Hot, Cold, and Completely Tainted

**A/N:** I tried to make it good, but I can't tell anymore, given I've read it a hundred times. I hope it reads well enough, because honestly, I'm a little worried.

**WARNINGS:** Nastiness, perverseness (not that bad IMO), dirty words that make people blush.... Pages and pages of blatant sexual descriptions....

* * *

A few days passed uneventfully. Sephiroth made no indication that he recalled what had been confessed, not ignoring Vincent, but not being very open with him either. He was definitely less reserved, but nothing about the slight change in mood suggested that he wanted to continue on with what had been started.

When they had left the beach, Vincent had been nervous, but instead of anything happening, Sephiroth had gone straight to his room and not come out until the following morning. Vincent couldn't bear to do anything about it, too shy, and still cursing himself for thinking any of it could be true. Sephiroth was playing games, he _had_ to be.

Every touch was chaste, not at all revealing of the man's feelings, if he had any, that was. Vincent attempted to stop worrying what it had meant, as it had been driving him to confusion and only more unanswered questions. He wanted to forget, pretend that none of it happened so that he could just move on, but his mind wouldn't allow him to do that. He found that he could push it aside, simply because it hurt, but he could not just wipe it from his memory and begin again. It was there forever to remind him.

Training was interesting. He still had not used the gun, which he had finally learned was named Cerberus. He could already tell that within a short amount of time he would be much better with the gauntlet due to Sephiroth's supervision. The fighting was challenging, driving him to force himself to work as hard as he was capable of. That, and he hoped that he could at least please the man by improving. That was something.

He had not used Chaos either, but did not push the matter, content enough that he was no longer falling behind the squad mates he would eventually be required to learn alongside of again. He thought of Zack and Angeal a little, but mostly he spent time in his room, avoiding Sephiroth somewhat.

Sephiroth wasn't too difficult to steer clear of; he kept to himself, and though he made meals for them both, he disappeared quite a bit. Vincent had even heard the motorcycle a few times, and wondered if there was a fuel stash somewhere he didn't know about, probably in one of the shack-like sheds in the back. He tried to pretend not to notice, but he was definitely affected by it all. It seemed as though that whole day had just been a ruse to get his hopes up, then rip them apart.

It was afternoon when he fell asleep. He had been reading one of the tactics books Sephiroth had left lying around, when he could no longer keep his eyes open. He had been skipping out on sleep, not just because of the nightmares, but because he did not want to make any noise while he slept; he still couldn't get what Sephiroth had said out of his head.

The fact that Sephiroth had even made the suggestion that he desired Vincent was at least enough to keep him going. It could have been a lie for all he knew, but it was something. Something the desperate, lonely boy inside cherished and kept close. He hated his dependency, his need for Sephiroth to like him and appreciate him. It was stupid, co-dependent, yet he could not suddenly make the man's opinion worthless in his own eyes. Too much had happened.

He had been awake enough to shove the textbook away before he completely drifted off, but did not bother to move to the pillow or get under the blankets, laying on the duvet, still fully clothed with even his boots still laced to his feet.

The dreams were again, bad.

_Monsters, blood dripping from deadly looking teeth. They growled at him in low, evil rumbles, their eyes mad, wild, rolling in their heads. They surrounded him, one looking very familiar as it bit at the air with a loud snap of its frighteningly powerful jaws, drool dripping copiously down from its yellowed, rotting teeth. It snarled, and the others all came closer, too close.... _

_The dream changed seconds after the beasts had started to tear at his skin, sending rivers of blood streaming down at every wound. It all faded away...._

_Something flowing down in the earth, green and twisting just like Sephiroth's eyes. Something malevolent was in it, tainting it, blackening its vibrant color with its darkness. Consciences were everywhere, all around, screaming, shouting like death pursued them, yet he could see nothing, just that strange swirling mist.... _

_Then there was Chaos, the bat out of hell. It rushed out of an opening in the ground, wings lashing through the air as it ascended into a darkened sky, yellow eyes ablaze. It hunted, watching from the air like a bird of prey, diving down on anything that moved, anything that was living._

_It tore through everything, ripping, shredding, killing. It did it all with a fanged sneer, the crowned head distinctly a monster, yet distinctly himself, Vincent. It did not take long before those bloodied, sadistic claws became his own...._

Vincent woke with a gasp, flying up at the hand that had reached down to wake him. He tried to hit Sephiroth, only for his eyes to go wide as the man grabbed him reflexively by the fist. The invading hand wrapped around his completely, though it no longer needed to be kept at bay.

Vincent became instantly aware that he was awake, his breathing rapid.

"It was just a dream," Sephiroth said consolingly.

His grip on Vincent's balled hand was tight, but not painful, just enough to make a point. He let go without ceremony, his face showing a visible concern. He was standing somewhat, though he was half bent over the bed, long hair just brushing the ground.

Vincent took his hand back, resting it at his side. He was sitting up, his legs tangled together, the blankets visibly mussed from his unconscious movement during sleep.

Sephiroth stood up to his full height, then walked a few steps away to sit on the end of the bed, letting out a sigh. Vincent lifted his feet to the side in order to make more room, but Sephiroth did not take it, remaining perched on the very edge of the mattress in an almost anticipatory way, as though he suspected he would not be there long. His fingers interlaced in his lap, something Vincent had never seen him do. It was oddly human.

"I didn't mean to almost hit you," Vincent commented, running a hand through his black hair, which kept coming back to rest in front of his eyes.

Sephiroth only let a 'hmm' noise, as he finally turned to Vincent instead of facing the wall as he had been.

The gaze was intent. It took a few moments before he finally spoke his mind: "You have been avoiding me."

It was Vincent's turn to look away, though he didn't. He was tired of his own unwillingness to show more aggressive tendencies. He wasn't timid, it was just Sephiroth that muddled his thoughts and made him mutter as though he were thoughtless, as though he were so unsure all of the time. He was unsure when it came to Sephiroth, but he had enough confidence in himself to know that he could get things done when it was required of him. That included looking the man in the eye.

"Yes," Vincent admitted honestly.

Sephiroth seemed to find that funny, because he shook his head, smiling a little. "But yet you 'want me'. I find that amusing. What could be more contradictory?"

"I'm not going to lie. I don't understand you, Sephiroth. I try to, but I always seem to be two steps behind, or assuming things that aren't true," he said quietly, still staring directly into the man's face.

"I waited to see what you would do, but clearly if anything is to happen I am going to have to initiate it," Sephiroth commented, his tone sounding ironic. He paused for a moment, his fingers unlacing. "But it's no matter; I prefer it that way."

"You wanted me to...do something?" Vincent asked, frowning, though he appeared to be regretful.

Things were starting to make a sick sort of sense. Vincent could feel the dread knotting up somewhere in his abdomen, as it began to dawn that the situation might be entirely his fault, that he might have suffered for a few days when there was absolutely no reason to. But how could he have ever approached Sephiroth? The man was virtually unapproachable, at least from Vincent's standpoint.

Did that mean...Sephiroth felt it to? Whatever 'it' was. Maybe it all hadn't been a lie....

"I would have liked it," Sephiroth agreed, eyeing Vincent in a way that was not at all platonic. He was smiling secretively, in a way that was definitely suggestive.

Vincent shied under the glance, but kept his breathing even, willing himself to calm down. But the nervousness was beginning to flood his system as he thought of where the conversation might be leading.

"So you're saying that you want this too," Vincent concluded, hardly able to keep his voice from sounding distinctly unsure.

Sephiroth shook his head again, which scared Vincent for a second. "I confess I am beginning to wonder whether or not you have any confidence in your abilities whatsoever." Sephiroth mulled over his own words before continuing, "Of course I do. If I did not, I would have made it abundantly obvious."

Happiness, for once, seemed to flower in Vincent's chest, making him clutch at the bed sheets, his expression an infectious, yet somehow shy grin. Sephiroth only looked at him, the eyes as intense and calculating as ever.

"You want this, we do it by my terms," Sephiroth stated, his tone serious.

Vincent could only nod, everything inside getting more and more twisted, both with amazement and a healthy dose of fear.

"Don't expect me to suddenly show affection. I will fuck you, but that does not mean that anything done during that time transcends the act itself or exists separately from it." Sephiroth had already decided to be as blunt as possible, since the boy seemed to easily read into everything. "Furthermore, this is never to be mentioned, not even to me, not to anyone. If you ever make any sort of reference to it, you will find yourself in a very bad, nasty place, is that understood?"

Vincent didn't exactly like the terms, but it was more or less what he had expected. Sephiroth would never wake up one day and hug him or hold him close. There was nothing about the man that spoke of love or affection. It was something about that fact that made Sephiroth feel so unattainable. The truth was, the man couldn't be 'attained', he would never belong to anyone from what Vincent could tell.

Though he knew that it would all be difficult to deal with given his strange feelings, he decided to face such things as they happened. He could have what he wanted, he just couldn't have all of it, mainly, Sephiroth himself.

"Okay," Vincent answered softly.

Sephiroth only looked at him, seemingly in thought.

Vincent suddenly had an idea, one that was both exciting and scary at the same time. His mind seemed to be replaying what Sephiroth had said earlier about how he would have liked him to have initiated something. Could he?

It was a frightening thought. It would have been, even with anyone else, but with Sephiroth it seemed so incredibly worse. He knew he was completely in the dark when it came to sex, so clearly there would be little skill coming from him. But how would he know if he didn't try it?

It wasn't as though he hadn't been humiliated already. He had faced the worst of it, thinking that his feelings, at least sexually, were completely unreciprocated. But Sephiroth wanted to.... He couldn't stop smiling about it, still unbelieving in part of his mind somewhere.

It took a few seconds for him to finally decide.

Vincent moved across the bed, feeling shaky and sick with anticipation. Everything in him wanted to freeze, but the stubborn part of him refused to allow for it, as he crawled over to where Sephiroth was sitting, not caring that he was probably getting the blankets dirty from his boots.

He wasn't sure what he had intended to do at first, and he hesitated. He was directly next to Sephiroth, his hand slowly moving to rest on the shining silver pauldron that covered the man's left shoulder. The metal was cold to the touch, but not half so cold as he knew the green eyes could be.

Sephiroth was watching him, looking interested, yet surprised. He made no move to do anything to stop Vincent, throughly impressed that the boy was trying to overcome his nerves that were plainly revealed by his hesitance.

The mouth was perfect, inviting. It had a hint of a smile to it, which made heat travel downward through Vincent's body. He wanted to touch the picturesque face, and didn't refrain, though his hand was slow in moving to where it intended. Finally, his fingers brushed against the man's lips, moving delicately over the bottom one. Sephiroth still remained stationary, though from the look he was giving Vincent, the boy could only take it as encouragement.

He moved his hand down over Sephiroth's face, amazed that the man was being patient and allowing him to do it. He wanted to taste his skin, but he was unsure. He had never touched anyone before, not with any sort of sexual feeling attached to it. Every tiny movement was enough to make him harden inside his pants, the effect almost instantaneous.

Vincent couldn't wait anymore, unconsciously licking his lips as he moved closer to Sephiroth. The man's hands went to his back, helping him to brace himself as he leaned over him. Vincent kissed him lightly on the lips, an almost unsexual gesture, letting out a sigh as he did it, disbelieving. He drew back for a second, feeling nervous from being so close. Everything was fluttering inside him horribly, making his movements feel exaggerated.

Sephiroth's face was masculine, but just barely, and easily downplayed by the cat-like eyes lined with a fringe black lashes. He didn't look feminine, yet something about the softness of his features made him very androgynous; he was even more fascinating up close.

Without warning, Sephiroth reached forward, like a statue coming to life. His gloved hand went to Vincent's neck, bringing his face closer. The boy had no choice but to move nearer to him, into his lap, the strong hands pulling him. One was on the small of his back, but the other held him by the neck, bringing his mouth directly into contact with Sephiroth's pink lips.

But there was nothing chaste about it. There was a bit of wetness for a few seconds as Sephiroth seemed to relish in just kissing him a few times, his hand curling into Vincent's hair. Again, he seemed to tug on the smaller body, bringing them exceedingly close, so that they were touching. Vincent was propped up on his knees, one leg on either side of Sephiroth, his body beginning to shiver nervously and pleasantly, as the man's tongue pushed into his mouth without ceremony, controlling and demanding.

Vincent had never kissed someone before, and was surprised for a few seconds, but found that it wasn't difficult to let the man have what he wanted. He moaned, not expecting the sound from himself, as he felt his lower body's contact with Sephiroth's coat become even harsher as the man possessively pushed the smaller body into his even more.

Sephiroth could feel how small Vincent's frame was, narrow and painfully thin even through the clothes he was wearing. It made the entire situation worse, because physically it felt as though Vincent needed protecting.

He was aware too, that the boy was already painfully excited, an erection very evident through his pants. Vincent was sweetly innocent, unsure, yet wanting it too much to stop, his small mouth easy to take. He wasn't gentle about it, tasting him harshly, while Vincent tentatively returned the attention, moving to another angle to allow Sephiroth to do exactly as he wanted.

Sephiroth moved to Vincent's neck allowing him time to breathe. He went slowly, starting at the very top, then continuing all the way down to the start of his right shoulder, his hand moving lower to squeeze at one of the boy's thighs.

Vincent whimpered, trying to bite it back, but the touch had been too unexpected. The thought of having Sephiroth's hands anywhere near that area was enough to make him nervous, but in an anticipatory way.

He let one of his pale hands wander into Sephiroth's hair, trying to do it gradually, as he wasn't sure that the man would want him to touch it. It was as soft as it looked, and he couldn't help but tangle his fingers in it, similarly to the way the man was holding him, almost pulling at his hair.

He was released for a moment, though Sephiroth's mouth continued its ministrations, the wet kisses turning into subtle bites, the sensitive skin catching between white teeth. Vincent looked down, realizing that the man was discarding his gloves, tossing them carelessly over the side of the bed and onto the floor.

Then the shockingly warm hands were at his waistband, yanking at his shirt. Once it had been pulled from his pants, the deft fingers wrapped around his lower stomach, thumbs massaging on either side. They rubbed, roving up and down, as Sephiroth's lips came back to his.

Vincent let out a low groan that was muffled by Sephiroth's mouth, as one of the hands traveled a little lower, smoothing all the way down to where the elastic band of his underwear started. It fiddled around, pushing just inside the material, but never going all the way down, instead just petting at the soft, sensitive skin there. It was forceful, however, as Vincent's pants were still completely fastened, not allowing Sephiroth's hand much movement at all. His pants were biting into his back from being stretched by the roaming hand, but Vincent didn't mind.

He knew if Sephiroth touched him, even through fabric, he would probably be finished fairly quickly. He was so ready, all of his feelings and hormones making him extremely aroused.

He wanted to touch Sephiroth, but wasn't sure how, given that the coat was covering nearly every part of him. He settled for letting his fingers carefully go from leather to the gap where the man's chest was exposed. He moved his hand over the skin there, which caused Sephiroth to hold him tighter again, the kisses becoming overpoweringly wonderful.

Sephiroth waited no longer, letting his hand slide over the bulge in Vincent's underwear. The boy clutched at his shoulders suddenly, eyes gone wide. Vincent swallowed nervously, looking somewhat panicked as Sephiroth cupped his hand over his hardness. He couldn't stop the strangled moan, one that sounded desperate and made Sephiroth grin at him seductively.

The man had pulled away somewhat, one hand on Vincent's stomach, the other one lost inside his pants. Vincent was holding onto both of Sephiroth's pauldron-covered shoulders, his body suddenly very, very tense.

"Sephiroth—"

The man only watched him, his look lustful as he began to move his hand, causing Vincent's hips to jump forward reflexively in attempt to increase friction. The whimpers were absolutely perfect, making Sephiroth smile as he rubbed. But it wasn't enough, not for either of them. It was only a matter of seconds before he snaked a finger underneath the material unexpectedly, which nearly had Vincent undone, his arms wrapping about the neck in front of him for stability, as his legs had already begun to shake.

Vincent was both embarrassed and turned on—he couldn't seem to decide which was worse. He didn't want Sephiroth to see him, as he was so damn skinny and sick looking, yet here the man was grasping at his most private of parts, and he had no willpower to stop him.

The whole hand soon followed, pushing its way past the barrier of fabric and wrapping about Vincent's cock, causing the boy to cry out in both shock and desire, his maroon eyes more pleading than ever. Sephiroth let out his own halted breath, as his wandering hand found the sensitive tip, collecting the leaking wetness that had been spotting the boy's underwear. He ran his thumb over it, still unable to see anything, going completely by touch, as he had a feeling the boy would be a little shier if entirely naked. That would come later, once Vincent was more relaxed.

He used the creamy substance to help as his dry hand began to rhythmically force itself over Vincent's erection, the movements measured, tantalizingly slow. It was difficult to do it as he wanted through the clothes, but he managed to somehow pull the underwear a bit down so that only the pants were constricting the movement.

Vincent didn't bother to stifle the sounds that naturally seemed to rise up from somewhere deep in his stomach. The desire for pleasure instantly outweighed any reservations, as the hand seemed to take away all thought.

It wasn't long before Vincent had forgotten himself, and easily began to push harder into the hand, his lips parted slightly, wet with saliva from having licked them. The friction of skin to skin was perfect. There was no leather glove to keep Sephiroth from touching him.

He was glad Sephiroth couldn't see him—he would have been so much more embarrassed, though what they were doing was enough to make his face tinge red, both from exertion and shyness.

Vincent was shivering with need, his head moving back as he rocked forward, his face inches from Sephiroth's, as he held the man close. He was breathing heavily, yet haltingly, his breath catching when a movement was particularly perfect. He already knew It was only a matter of seconds before he came, but he wanted to so badly.... Those green eyes were watching him intently, barely blinking at all. He didn't realize they were taking in every sweet, blissful expression that crossed his face.

The boy suddenly got hesitant, his moans closer together, turning into constant whimpers as his hands fisted locks of Sephiroth's hair unconsciously.

"Don't you dare stop," Sephiroth growled, latching on harder to the tiny waist underneath the buttoned shirt. His hand forced itself deeper into the tight black pants, squeezing.

His grip on Vincent became more insistent, the movements more hurried, forcing the boy to comply. Vincent tried to protest, but couldn't; it felt too good, too damn good. He could only moan and shudder as everything gathered at one point, feeling as though it was atrophying all the muscles in his legs to the extent that he wanted to collapse. But he didn't, instead crashing his hips into the hand, his cock sliding exquisitely between the partially wet fingers that kept smoothing over the too-sensitive head, making him sticky.

He stopped very suddenly, crying out, eyes closing as he held on even tighter to Sephiroth. His expression was almost pained, his thighs gone rigid, stiff, his hands balling up even more in long tresses of silver hair.

Sephiroth moaned, feeling something wet being forced into his hand, slicking his palm and fingers a few times.

Vincent was gasping, having felt everything bubbling up inside of him, all of the feelings he had for Sephiroth, and realizing that it was him who was doing this to him, Sephiroth who was touching him, who wanted him. It made it almost too perfect.

It was a few seconds before Sephiroth's hand relinquished him, both conscious of his new sensitivity, and with other plans in mind. It moved around somewhat before being withdrawn from his pants. It was closed into a fist so as to not lose the majority of what had been captured. The green eyes watched Vincent, filled with lust and amusement. The hand opened, wet with what Vincent had left behind.

At first Vincent didn't realize why Sephiroth was looking at him that way, but it became glaringly obvious.

Sephiroth stared at him for a moment longer before his tongue moved out from between his lips, collecting the whitish fluid from his palm, then moving up each finger separately.

Vincent swallowed, his breathing still rapid, though it become more so as he watched Sephiroth. He should have been disgusted, but he wasn't, in fact, he couldn't look away. He knew he was blushing.

Sephiroth easily cleaned over every finger, smiling suggestively the entire time, loving the shocked yet fascinated expression on Vincent's face. There was something about the interest the boy showed that made it so much more pleasurable. It was dirty, yet Vincent made no show of disliking it. He was still too innocent not to blush, however.

There was a low, sultry laugh from Sephiroth. "Not what you expected?" he quipped.

Vincent could only grin, looking embarrassed, as he stared at Sephiroth's long, elegant fingers, which were glistening with saliva. The man's lips were wet as well, though there was no trace of the slimy white come that he had so throughly removed from his hand.

It didn't take long for Sephiroth to move on, undoing his pauldrons. His focus on the boy was diverted somewhat, as he decided to get what he wanted. It would be easier now that Vincent was satisfied for the moment.

Vincent was still propped on Sephiroth's lap, though his legs had tired out and he had finally given in, sitting down on the leather-clad body. He was nervous again, even though he knew an embarrassing part was over. It was actually difficult to be shy; pleasure seemed to make him forget momentarily, which was a nice reprieve. He watched as Sephiroth pulled at the pauldrons, hands moving beneath them. Vincent reached out to touch the man's neck tentatively, letting a hand slide around the side of it, where he trailed his fingers downward.

The armor came off after he undid a few buckles, then he set it aside on the floor, so it would not get in the way. The coat was next, actually much simpler, given that he rarely did more than two buckles out of the several. But it was getting the jacket off that was the problem, as Vincent had his full weight on his lap.

Instead of making the boy move, he lifted him partially with one arm, grabbing him about the waist, then fiddled with the coat with the other until he had it out from under him, then he pushed off to the side. He set Vincent back down, then managed to disengage himself from both sleeves. In one swift motion, he balled the leather over his arm, then tossed it into a heap in the corner of the room.

Sephiroth's chest was bare except for two cross straps that served more or less as suspenders, attaching to his leather pants at the waist. He undid those as well, letting them slide off the bed, still dangling from his pants.

Vincent couldn't look away. Sephiroth was better than a statue, everything smooth and muscled, starting from the shoulders all the way down to his stomach, where it tapered in beautifully. Sephiroth was slender and long like he was, though obviously on a much larger scale. He didn't have the bulky build that Vincent had seen on the SOLDIERs he had been around. Sephiroth was naturally lean, more graceful in build. He realized that once upon a time, Sephiroth must have been a lanky teenager just like he was, though now he looked absolutely perfect.

Sephiroth took one of Vincent's hands in his own, bringing it to the heated skin of his chest. Vincent was nervous at first, barely touching, not noticing that the man was enjoying his timidness immensely.

Sephiroth was smiling darkly.

Vincent wanted to touch every part of him, but the desire to kiss him was stronger. Though he was spent, he could already feel a stirring as he thought about running his tongue down the man's stomach. He tried to placate himself with just tracing over Sephiroth's chest with his fingertips and palms, but soon he was leaning closer, his hot breath tickling. He looked up at green eyes for permission as his lips just grazed skin. Sephiroth's hand grabbed him gently by the back of the head, making him complete the contact.

Vincent kissed lightly at first, but couldn't resist for long. Soon he was letting his tongue lap at the skin just as his lips pulled away, leaving behind telltale wet marks. Sephiroth was looking very pleased, though he was quiet compared to the sounds Vincent knew he himself would be making were he in the man's place. Sephiroth had experience and control, something he still lacked.

His hands began to explore, roving over the dips lovingly, while he kissed at any skin within his reach, turning desperate as Sephiroth held him closer, eyes filled with raw want. Those strong hands were at his back, giving none too subtle directions.

Vincent had to bend quite a bit to get his lips where he wanted them, but Sephiroth leaned back a ways to make it easier, his weight coming to rest on one arm behind him, while the other remained wrapped around the smaller body.

When he neared Sephiroth's pants, he lost some of his nerve, his eyes flitting questioningly to the man whose lap he was sitting on.

Sephiroth unbuckled the belt around his waist, not bothering to remove it completely. Then his hand covered over Vincent's, coercing it.

His pale fingers ventured further, moving over skin that was heated even more so than the rest of the man's body. He whimpered when he began to feel something, the larger hand teasingly bringing his fingers to stroke against the base of a painfully erect cock. The man was obviously not wearing any underwear.

"Can...can I see it?" Vincent asked not believing he had said it aloud.

Sephiroth's look became predatory. "Are you certain?" The green eyes were glimmering dangerously, something beneath barely contained.

Vincent nodded, biting at his lower lip, his face turning crimson behind choppy ebony hair.

Sephiroth's hand released Vincent's, undoing the button then the zipper fairly quickly. He lifted his body upward somewhat, Vincent grabbing onto him as they were moved a few inches off of the bed. He didn't have to take his pants completely down, but he would expose most of himself anyway, mostly just to get a reaction out of Vincent.

He settled back down, then slowly slid the leather past his thighs. Vincent had gotten onto his knees to make the process easier, so all of his weight would not be on Sephiroth.

Vincent couldn't help but stare, licking his lips without even realizing it. The man didn't seem to mind, leaning back lazily. Vincent couldn't breathe well, both excited and scared at the same time. His hand moved of its own accord, stopping on the skin near Sephiroth's all too apparent erection.

It was definitely bigger than his own. A lot bigger. Like everything else, all Vincent wanted to do was run his fingers over it, or more preferably cover it with his mouth. He would normally have been shocked by this line of thought, but given the circumstances, he hardly even acknowledged the foreignness of it.

He placed his hand around it gently, maroon eyes moving to Sephiroth's face in uncertainty. The skin _was _hot. There was a bit of sweat to it, making it somewhat damp to the touch, while the large head was dribbling precome. It was strangely exciting, Vincent feeling himself salivate as he thought about what he could do, his hand giving a few tentative, experimental strokes.

Sephiroth's breathing became heavier, his chest rising and falling beautifully. Vincent touching him was about the most innocent thing he had ever seen, the boy full of desire, but not quite sure where to start, his lips moving as he had particular thoughts that Sephiroth would have very much liked him to follow through with.

Vincent finally grasped it with more certainty, deciding to do exactly what he did to himself. He pulled at it gently, moving his hand back and forth in a sloppy sort of way, blushing quite a bit at his own inexperience.

Sephiroth couldn't help but become even more turned on. The boy was so virginal it was painful, making him swell even more, everything rigid. He knew Vincent had never been with anyone, it wasn't exactly a secret, given the way the boy shivered so wonderfully at the smallest of kisses or caresses. He reveled in the fact that it was his alone, the experience. Vincent was his, at least for this time.

It took a little while, but Vincent seemed to relax, the movements becoming more sure, a lot less tense. Sephiroth only gazed at him through half-lidded eyes, his hips moving slightly in rhythm with what Vincent was doing, lifting them both off of the bed a little. The boy was inadvertently grinding his lower body into Sephiroth's legs, his spent cock hardening again.

Vincent's mouth was open slightly, as he got more and more into what he was doing. His breaths had become little moans, as he bit at his lip in concentration, eyes always darting to Sephiroth's to make sure he was doing it right.

Sephiroth was having trouble controlling himself, hands moving up Vincent's shirt, fingers digging into the taut, muscled little body. He could distinctly feel the boy's ribs, which he pushed into with his fingertips none to gently. Vincent was moving harder against him, his thighs tightening. Vincent couldn't take his eyes from Sephiroth's, entranced by the way the green seemed to change when it was clouded with pleasure. But it was hard to ignore the warm erection in his hands that made him feel both incredibly shy and powerful at the exact same time.

Sephiroth's hands went to Vincent's pants, where he deftly undid the button. Vincent paused only momentarily, his eyes betraying a sudden nervousness. But Sephiroth did not stop, slowly prying the tight pants downward. The boy seemed to give in that moment, and held himself up on his knees as the man dragged his pants down. He was forced to let go of the warm cock for an instant, as he stood from Sephiroth's lap, having to get off the bed for a moment to completely untangle himself from his black slacks, as well as to kick off his boots and socks. He pulled his underwear off last, his hands quaking in nervousness, fingers clumsy.

Sephiroth's jaw tightened, while his chest moved a little more noticeably. He could tell Vincent wanted to cover over himself, but was trying to be brave about his sudden nakedness.

He sat back down onto the leather and partial skin, feeling self conscious, though from the way Sephiroth was looking at him, he knew that the man was very much aroused by the sight of him.

The shirt came next, which Sephiroth pulled over his head then threw somewhere. Green eyes trailed over his body appreciatively, stopping on his stomach and thighs.

The boy was very thin, vulnerable looking. His chest was free of hair, as was every other part, either from shaving or a lack of growth, though he probably should have had pubic hair. He was so pale he looked sickly, which endeared the man to him all the more. It was difficult to look at Vincent and not want to either fuck him senseless or stand over him and protect him.

He placed Vincent's hands back where they belonged---around his cock. Vincent was more shy, however, his naked form touching against the tops of Sephiroth's thighs. Sephiroth feigned ignorance, spitting on his hand, then applying it to the part of himself Vincent wasn't touching.

Vincent's hands started moving again, gently, almost reverently, becoming slick with saliva. Sephiroth could only watch him, trying not to grab onto the boy's ass to force him forward like he wanted to. Like he needed to.

It wasn't long before the boy was eliciting precious little moans, his tight balls rubbing directly on Sephiroth's legs, while his dick bounced freely in the air then against the hard stomach in front of him as he unconsciously began to push forward in accordance to what his hands were doing.

Sephiroth finally gave in partially to his desire, long fingers wrapping around Vincent's thighs and bringing him forward so that they were touching completely. Vincent looked surprised, but didn't protest as the hands forced his hips forward. His hands ended up crushed between their bodies, as Sephiroth encouraged him to continue his earlier movements.

Vincent was moaning, burying his face in Sephiroth's neck as the man brought their hips crashing together, somewhat wet, and full of friction. Sephiroth's cock somehow ended up slipping between his legs, rubbing against the sensitive, soft skin. Sephiroth wanted more, but restrained himself, simply digging his fingers along hard shoulder blades, then down the narrow, muscled back. Vincent's hands had retreated as he placated himself with moving against Sephiroth's groin harshly.

But restraint could only last so long. Sephiroth was kissing at the boy's lips again and holding onto him so tightly he made a few sounds of discomfort, grabbing at silver hair, his small face moving into the crook of the man's neck. Sephiroth's control was waning very quickly, and before he just took Vincent without warning, he stopped himself, pulling away.

"Hold on," Sephiroth said abruptly.

Vincent looked confused, frowing, disappointed that the movement had ceased so suddenly. Sephiroth carefully lifted the smaller body off of him, then set him on the bed. The boy was like a doll---perfect---his lips swollen from kissing, while his cock was fully erect again, stiff between his toned legs.

Sephiroth bent down, removing his boots as quickly as he was able. Once he had taken them off with a thump, he peeled off the leather pants the rest of the way. He left them in a pile, then purposefully went into the bathroom, disappearing for a moment.

Vincent's heart was beating harshly, so loud he swore he could hear it. He knew what came next, but the thought of it was enough to make him reach down and grasp at himself. He wanted Sephiroth inside of him, he wanted to feel that hard, statuesque body pushing against his. But mostly he wanted to feel that cock. He wanted to feel the swelling thing inside, and he didn't know why.

Vincent fidgeted up until Sephiroth reemerged from the bathroom, carrying a lotion dispenser. Unfortunately it had been all he could find, but it would do fine. He wanted to just take Vincent, but the boy was so damn small and his hips so narrow it was going to be difficult enough to get into him as it was. That, and he didn't need the boy painful, no matter how much part of him would have reveled in it.

Sephiroth placed the bottle on the night stand, putting quite a bit onto his hand to make it as painless as possible. He then slicked it over himself, quite liberal with it. Vincent was watching him, obviously apprehensive, though his eyes kept flicking to Sephiroth touching himself, unable to ignore how erotic it looked.

Sephiroth went nearer to the bed, staring down at Vincent. "Lay down," he breathed.

Vincent looked a little unsure, but complied, slowly leaning back, down onto the bed. When he was laying flat, he looked at Sephiroth over his stomach, his expression nervous. His erection was sticking up, though bent back toward him, while his chest and abdomen moved noticeably from his increased rate of breathing. He was shaking a little, his face red from how exposed the position made him.

Sephiroth's hands reached out to him, on either side of his waist. He was pulled over the blankets, until his hips were nearly hanging off of the edge of the bed. Sephiroth was looking down at him, sea green eyes piercing, demanding. Vincent's legs were then bent very quickly by the man's hurried hands, making his small body more vulnerable than ever.

"Keep your legs apart," Sephiroth ordered, coming even closer. The green eyes were darker somehow as they looked down at him so helpless.

He could see Sephiroth's cock, covered in lotion and obviously very aroused. Fingers pried him apart, making him flinch at first, but he tried to stay still, his eyes closed. Then there was some residual lotion being smoothed over him, gently put over a place that made him gasp. He twitched a little, looking away.

Sephiroth didn't prep him with his fingers, didn't do anything to warn him. He just approached the smaller body, his breathing laboured, eyes flicking to the scared face, then back to the smooth white legs bent at the knee. He slowly pushed himself between the walls of pale flesh, guiding himself with a hand at first. Vincent tensed, letting out a little sound of surprise. Sephiroth didn't penetrate, however, instead sliding back and forth between the skin, not pushing inside. He held fast to Vincent's inner thighs, coercing them more downward with his slimy fingers. Meanwhile he continued to move a little, letting his dick emerge from between rounded cheeks, then disappear again.

It felt good, and didn't take long for Vincent to start biting his lip, reflexively grabbing at the blankets under him. Sephiroth's hands were moving over his stomach, stroking it. He moaned, his hips lifting a little in need.

He could see Sephiroth looming above, the silver hair surrounding him, locks of it running over Vincent's belly when it accidently got moved by a wandering hand.

Sephiroth was smiling, his look sheer lust. He began to rub specifically against the closed little hole, one of his hands caressing Vincent's taut little sack, while the other continued to pet at the pale, muscled stomach, thumb circling, massaging. The boy was moving upward, not much, but discernibly enough to let Sephiroth know that he definitely wanted it. Vincent wasn't able to thrust against him, but his lower body tried in vain anyway, meeting nothing but air.

He had a lot of patience, but when it came to Vincent, it faltered. The tiny pink opening was too tempting, too ready.... It only took a few more movements against it before he decided to take exactly what he wanted.

He forced the head inside very abruptly, causing Vincent to wince and gasp. A good amount of the rest went inside without hesitation, though he had to slam his hips forward to move through the warmth, to get it to spread for him.

Vincent had stopped rocking his hips, eyes squinched shut. It wasn't anywhere near unbearable, but when it had pushed inside it hadn't been all too pleasant. It had happened too quickly, and he felt like he hadn't been able to get used to the idea.

Sephiroth moved regardless of Vincent's reaction, hips rolling forward as he pushed a bit more of his length inside. He let out something halfway between a moan and a growl, his hands latching onto Vincent's small thighs for leverage.

Vincent's eyes opened at the sound, locking with the emerald ones that were looking glassy.

Sephiroth couldn't stand it. Vincent wasn't even trying to resist, not even as he began to rhythmically, push forward, the movements rushed, possessive. Vincent only looked at him with innocent, needy eyes, not exactly enjoying the preliminary thrusts, but definitely wanting it to happen anyway.

The boy was too vulnerable, far too trusting. It made the ordeal almost painful for Sephiroth, who was caught between protecting and destroying, forcing in harder, but trying to limit how much.

He didn't grab at Vincent's erection, didn't do anything to negate the raw brutality of what he was doing. It would make Vincent different if he did, different from all of the others he took without thought, without caring. Vincent wasn't different, not unique, he was the same.... Just more naive, just with so much more to lose. Or that was what Sephiroth told himself.

Vincent was starting to feel everything again, the movements becoming more pleasurable. He could feel Sephiroth's hips occasionally grazing his, though the man did not seem to be burying himself inside all the way, only partially. It was an entirely foreign sensation, but good, definitely good, and it seemed to be getting better as he started to relax, the muscles losing their tense, constrictive quality.

Within a few minutes, Vincent was whimpering. He writhed at times, his head tossing across the sheets when Sephiroth did it with more pressure, adding an extra inch of length to the point where he felt entirely filled, like a barrier had been reached and it couldn't go any farther without becoming painful. But it was perfect, so horribly so, that he found himself arching, wishing Sephiroth were closer so that he could hold onto him.

That long flowing hair was tantalizing, flying forward with the abrupt movements and dancing across Vincent's thighs and stomach. It tickled teasingly, and the smell of it was vaguely flowery, drifting up at him from time to time.

The fact that it was Sephiroth was what was killing him. It wasn't a dream.

Sephiroth had known it had been a mistake to take Vincent face to face. The sweet expressions of abandon that took over caused him to fuck Vincent a lot harder than he probably should have been. The boy was being used, knew it, but didn't seem to care, just letting it happen, spreading his legs even wider to make it easier. He wanted to feel good, and was trustingly letting Sephiroth do it for him, all the while seeming so vulnerable, as though he would have given him anything even if it didn't feel pleasurable for himself.

Vincent's hands eventually pulled at his knees, when he realized how much better it felt. Sephiroth had complete access that way, and the man seemed to enjoy it, because he let out his own quiet, barely-there moans.

Mostly, Sephiroth just breathed heavily. He wasn't very vocal at all, for whatever reasons, but Vincent listened to the intakes of breath when he could, able to hear the differences when the man felt a particularly powerful sensation. The grip became tighter when the thrusts became more forceful, and sometimes a sharp sound of pleasure came out from deep in Sephiroth's chest.

Vincent loved it.

It smelled like sex. Finally Vincent knew what other boys meant when they said that. There was the musky, heady scent of Sephiroth, a smell that he planned on never forgetting, then his own. Then the scent of sweat, which beaded a little on Sephiroth's chest, glistening over the pectorals and catching stray strands of silver hair and plastering them to the smooth skin.

Vincent gave himself up to feelings, both the physical and the emotional. It seemed as though he had wanted this to happen forever, but had never truly believed it would. The slight grunts of Sephiroth were enough to tell him it was in fact happening, as well as the sensations that were beginning to build in his stomach. He was surprised he had not come all over himself, but knew that it was likely because the large, muscular body above him wasn't rubbing against him much, only delving into his opening, taking what it wanted. It hit something wonderful at times, but not often enough for him to finish, though he was definitely hard enough. He refrained from touching himself, not wanting to do anything to distract from what the man was doing to him. He could masturbate whenever he wanted, but he might never get to feel what he was feeling again.

Vincent didn't care that Sephiroth was taking; he would give almost anything to the man, he knew it already, though he was loathe to admit to it.

It felt blindingly good now, to the point that Vincent kept closing his eyes, almost unable to take it. He wanted it so badly that he was shivering, lifting his hips so Sephiroth might go farther, might touch him more. He could feel the slickness of the man's hardness as it moved between the skin, feeling wet and full of friction. His little cries of pleasure became higher pitched each time he felt Sephiroth's fingers adjust their hold on his legs, the length going in just a bit deeper....

Sephiroth let out a louder sound, another that seemed more reminiscent of a growl than a moan, though it was very beautiful just the same. The thrusts became more hurried, farther reaching. There were wet, almost sucking sounds at times that should have been disgusting, but Vincent only laid back, mouth open as he tried to breathe through the sensations. Everything about it felt good. He was pushing down against the mattress, tightening the muscles of his lower body unconsciously, which caused Sephiroth to fist at his thighs.

The grip of elegant fingers made him wince as they bit into his skin, squeezing and pinching. He could see that darkness in Sephiroth's eyes, an almost wildness. Then he cried out when the cock inside of him pushed in farther than it ever had, painfully so, as Sephiroth tensed, the muscles of his legs and lower stomach becoming even more defined.

There was a perfect moan as Sephiroth bent over him somewhat, eyes closing briefly as he finally reached his climax. The silver hair tickled at his chest, the hips stationary for once, as the man remained buried inside.

Sephiroth was breathing heavily, the green eyes closing lazily. One hand was resting on the bed now, allowing him to rest his body somewhat. Everything about him was still somewhat rigid.

Vincent couldn't look away. The man was more open than he had ever seen him, defenses all down for the moment. The face was calm, but etched with telltale lines of what he was feeling. Pleasure, and something else....

Sephiroth remained completely still for several moments, Vincent below him, only able to stare up at the almost angelic face that he was too afraid to touch. Something about Sephiroth's look wasn't quite right....

It didn't take long for the man to gain his bearings again, his eyes moving to Vincent's. They were calculating, seemingly deciding something. The boy only looked up at him questioningly, a sudden worry passing over his features.

He moved to a standing position again, causing a short grunt from Vincent, who felt the cock slide out of him slightly. The hands moved to Vincent's hips, completely ignoring the straining erection, as the invading flesh was removed, sounding wet, obscene even. Vincent tried to stifle his whimper of disappointment, as the warmth was taken from him and residual drips rolled down from between his skin and onto the bed.

Sephiroth backed away a few steps, his eyes clouding over with something.

His chest was shiny with sweat, while his hair was lank toward the ends, tangled. His dick was lax, the erection partially wilted and glistening, hanging between his thighs. He was incredibly alluring, but his face so unreadable and distant that Vincent swallowed nervously, trying to right himself.

Sephiroth looked at him, not saying anything.

"Sephiroth?" Vincent enquired, managing to get into a sitting position, eyes closing reflexively as he felt the soreness that made him want to smile. But the expression on Sephiroth's face killed any happiness that had flowed through him.

"I told you not to expect anything, Vincent," Sephiroth said coldly.

He hated it, but he had to do it. He had known it the entire time, but had nonetheless dreaded it. There was no other choice, not with the way Vincent was. He wasn't sure how the boy would fair against the harshness, but he had to instill immediately that it was nothing but sex, plain and simple and it would never be anything else. There couldn't be anything else.

The look on Vincent's face was so hurt, that for a moment Sephiroth reconsidered. The boy seemed to hide suddenly behind the veil of black hair, a deep frown distorting his pretty face.

Sephiroth felt an ache in his chest for a moment that he didn't like. His jaw clenched as he forcibly locked it away, feeling a wave of cold, dark reality prickle over his heated skin in its stead.

There could be no regret. Vincent would be fine, he would just need to get used to the idea, that was all. Better now, than later, when it grew stronger for the boy and became a source of irreparable damage that would tear away that beautiful vulnerability. It would only hurt Vincent for a short while...he would get over it. He was much stronger than he appeared.

"I got what I wanted, you got what you wanted. We are done." Sephiroth's tone was curt, his expression gone serious.

To make his point known, he started to grab his things from the floor, starting with his pants.

Vincent could only watch, his hands squeezing at the blankets so hard that they began to lace with pain instantaneously. He had known the terms, he had agreed to them, yet he still hadn't thought Sephiroth would be so businesslike about it. It made him extremely sad within moments, his eyes welling up with tears that he wanted to hate himself for.

Sephiroth pulled on his clothes, not even looking in Vincent's direction, instead acting as though he wasn't even there.

Vincent tried to keep himself from crying, but the tears fell anyway. He felt stupid for thinking things would be different, he knew they wouldn't, but that didn't stop him from becoming emotional about it. Everything had been so perfect only minutes ago, then everything went dark again. Why? Why did it have to be this way? Even if Sephiroth had just waited a little longer it wouldn't have been so bad, if his words hadn't been so emotionless....

"We can train in a few hours," Sephiroth said offhandedly, fastening his pauldrons onto his shoulders.

He could hear the very subtle sniffs coming from Vincent, causing one of his hands to clench inside the folds of his coat. But he turned, both to prevent any embarrassment on the boy's part, and to bar himself from changing his mind.

He walked out into the hall, believing that it was the only way.

* * *

**A/N: **I always knew Sephiroth went commando. Opinions welcome, I expect a few evil ones. I hope the sex scene was alright; I've hardly ever written any, but I gave it my best shot and tried not to turn it disgusting/violent as my mind is so often disposed.... Yes, there will be more scenes in the future, because I can't resist XD

Thanks to: Final Symphony (very to the point...haha), -CNFB, NicotineGum, Bakimono, OvenBased, Identity Crysis, Ray of Starlight, Sketchy-dreams, Marezuls, KT, SapphireMateria, CaseyAnn'sPrecious, Gismo1, kiralover44, and whatevergirl !


	34. A Glimpse Beyond the Cold

**A/N:** As always, you are loved! Reviews are great (how about awesome?) and really give me some insight into my own writing, both the good and the stuff that needs some improvement. Thanks to: NicotineGum, Bakimono, Identity Crysis, Strange and Intoxicating -rsa-, KT, Ray of Starlight, whatevergirl, Chicken Nova, SapphireMateria, kiralover44, Mogwai, Gismo1, tokidokilove, ghost of gene rayburn, CaseyAnn'sPrecious, OvenBased, Nalie, Risikaa, -CNFB-, and simply anonymous ! To answer your question, OvenBased, this story is supposed to go through most of CC (with changes, of course...). They will go back to base sometime in the future.

* * *

Vincent had curled up on his bed, naked, crying, and feeling incredibly alone.

He had waited for minutes, hoping with everything in him, that Sephiroth would walk back into the room. He had known it wouldn't happen. He wasn't that naive. Still, part of him thought Sephiroth wasn't that cold, _couldn't_ be. He had been wrong.

Chaos had awoken somewhere, torn from its quiet slumber by the feelings of agony that crushed down on Vincent's chest. Like a painful thorn, it made its presence known, as it snaked through Vincent's consciousness with utterly malicious intent.

It didn't hide the fact that it was pleased, that it enjoyed the torment, the suffering. To Chaos, it felt _good_. It shared the body of Vincent, it was a vessel for them both, an inhabitable shell. But it did not take pleasure in being nothing but a plaything of something else; it reveled in being the predator. To be prey was against its nature, however, it couldn't help but find much that was desirable coming from the encounter.

It did not understand human ideals, human ways. It would have killed the one called Sephiroth, not yielded to it. It never was the weak one, never the one to be taken. It was the taker, the raper of all things.

But the act would make the boy darker, it could sense that already. The pain was good. The pain would make him more malleable for its own uses.

Vincent didn't cry very long; he couldn't allow himself to. The anger was starting to bud, growing, nourishing on the sadness that was eating at him. He hated that Sephiroth got to him that way, that the man seemed to hold his emotions by a chain, always in control of them, of how much it hurt, ached.

Yes, Sephiroth had stated the terms none to gently, something Vincent reminded himself of. He had used the word 'fuck' to describe sex, he had never said 'love', never said anything about nice or caring. In fact, if Vincent remembered properly, the man had more or less said, 'don't expect affection'.

That didn't numb the pain any, however. In fact, it just made it worse. Sephiroth didn't care, he had known it, yet he had let the man do as he pleased anyway. There had never been a moment of regret the entire time, even when it didn't feel so good and Sephiroth was blatantly pursuing only self pleasure. Vincent had accepted it because secretly he knew it was all he would get from the man, and he was lucky he had even had the opportunity to have that.

But he was still angry, still furious that Sephiroth could just throw him away like that. It wasn't fair, and there had been no reason to be so fucking cold. Vincent wasn't sure why the man had done it, he couldn't get much focus on the situation except for his own point of view; he was too wrapped up in his own emotions to begin to understand the complicated inner workings of Sephiroth.

Then again, maybe it wasn't as complicated as he made it out to be in his head. Maybe Sephiroth _really_ didn't care. At all. Maybe he was just a body to the man, something to use while away from base when there was nothing else suitable.

The thought made a few tears stream down Vincent's cheeks. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block it out.

Sephiroth had definitely used him like a body. And the more he ran over the scenario in his mind's eye, the more the man's intentions became clearer to him. The way Sephiroth had been careful to make sure he was comfortable, the way he had eased him to orgasm, then used Vincent's newfound satisfaction to make him compliant for what he himself desired.

Was that what it is? Just something self serving in its entirety? Hadn't Sephiroth made that obvious? He hadn't even bothered to try and hide it, had he?

Vincent felt sick with worthlessness and a simmering wrath. Again, he only asked himself why he had thought things would be different. But it had felt good, he had been caught up in the moment, damning all consequences, letting Sephiroth manipulate him. During that time, all defenses had been gone, the pathetic attempts at barriers were easily pushed aside by the silver haired General that was actually paying attention to him. Sephiroth was not a person to ever let defenses down for; he may not have been petty, but he knew how to use a weakness, didn't he? After all, the man had made a career out of discovering softer points and attacking them.

It had been revealed for him to see, yet with his overwhelming feelings for Sephiroth, he had ignored it all at the most crucial of moments and gotten himself hurt over it. He knew a lot of it was his own fault, but that didn't mean Sephiroth had to be _that_ cold to him, did it?

* * *

Dim light filtered over the edge of the horizon, the strip of ever-darkening emerald that glimmered and swayed turning to its customary black.

There was a strong wind, almost warm, as it grazed over Sephiroth's skin, dragging through his hair pleasantly and bringing the oceanic scents with it. It didn't matter though; he could still smell Vincent. The boy's scent was all over him, a reminder that was both arousing and made him feel somewhat guilty.

There was no room in his life for anyone; that spot was reserved mostly to Angeal, and before...it had been a place for Genesis too. However, the more he thought about his friend, the more their drifting apart chiseled at their relationship, caused a fissure to crack open, leaving things exposed for him to mull over until it was thoroughly shredded apart.

He had no place for Vincent, at least not as a friend. He would not ever again allow friendship to cloud his judgement. Lust was what was muddying things, nothing else. That must have been what had compelled him to act out on the jumbled, pointless feelings he was having. They were nothing but the product of desire taken a little too far. They would fade quickly, after all, how could such things last? They were too fragile, too easily corrupted.

He cared for Vincent, somewhat like he cared for Zack. There was a difference, however. He had no interest in Zack, not in any way beyond being somewhat of a far off mentor. He cared for Zack because Angeal did, though he hardly knew the teen from any personal experience. But with Vincent...the caring wasn't entirely commendable. Somewhere along the line, things had shifted.

He would not be Vincent's friend; he couldn't allow for it. But he could watch him from afar, influence him for now. But he would work to make it distant, distant but stable, if he could. He knew it was a mistake to further things as they had, but it had been what he himself had wanted on some level. Perhaps in the end, it might work in the boy's favor, toughen him up more. Prepare him for life in general as a SOLDIER.

The letdown hadn't been gentle, which he knew. He might have been too harsh, too cold too soon. But things needed to be established. The longer he took to make things carved in stone, the more time the boy had to begin to believe it would be more than something fleeting and selfish. But would it destroy that beautiful innocence, smother it?

Sephiroth frowned, green eyes gone darker, much like the sea that frothed and raged.

It was a thin line, to be certain. He knew he should be working to make Vincent stronger, yet he couldn't bring himself to do it completely. Having something so willing and selfless beneath him brought out the monster in him, the darkness, while simultaneously bringing out that protectiveness that he associated almost completely with Angeal. It was confusing.

He knew that the only thing he was doing was furthering the boy's suffering. He could have avoided allowing the physical to take place, yet he had done it anyway. Now it would be slow and painful, as the boy either accepted the treatment and allowed it to continue (which in and of itself would most definitely hurt him for a time), or decided to forgo it completely.

He had a feeling Vincent would take what he could get; his little crush obviously ran deep. It had been more than clear that he could have had Vincent any way he wanted and the boy would have gone along with it, regardless of whether or not it made him uncomfortable mentally or physically. That was what was so beautiful about him. That was also what made it difficult for Sephiroth to follow through with. He had to accept that he was likely going to be the final destruction of the sweet, perfect vulnerability, that saving it wasn't going to be possible if he continued to inflict damage with every subsequent encounter.

He could have just taken Vincent on like a lover, but as far as Sephiroth was concerned, that was not an option. The boy would become too attached, too dependent. Vincent was strong and could stand alone, but Sephiroth could see that any perceived reciprocation of those boyish feelings would only complicate matters. Selfishly, he did not want to handle another situation where everything was entirely one-sided and Vincent began expecting things. Then again, when did Vincent expect things? Obviously not often. That was what made him so different. Even so, he needed to limit the affect it all had on the boy, while somehow still making it possible for both of them to have what they wanted—or at least, as close as they could get to it.

* * *

Vincent was dressed and ready by the time Sephiroth came to get him.

There was no evidence as to his feelings as far as his face. The redness had faded away from the crying, and he had brushed his hair so it wouldn't look so mussed. His eyes, however, were still somewhat bloodshot, looking tired and strained. Generally they were bright even in their dark color, always alert, but his sadness was displayed there and unfortunately there was nothing he could do about it.

Sephiroth easily noticed the change, but paid it no heed, having Vincent follow him out to the beach without so much as a greeting.

Vincent's eyes didn't leave the back of Sephiroth's coat, focusing on it to keep steady, calm. But both the overwhelming sorrow and the black anger roiling together in toxic combination were not making things easy, distracting him and corrupting his judgement. He wanted to yell at Sephiroth, but part of him didn't think he had the right to, while another basically dictated that he go disappear and sleep for awhile until he managed some clarity.

The two emotions were symbiotic, so much so that it was becoming difficult to tell which wanted what to happen. He just knew he wanted to do something, even if it was just talk. At least know why, why things had to be as they were suddenly.

"Sephiroth," Vincent addressed, staring worriedly at the black coat, where silver hair cascaded in disorganized tresses.

Sephiroth slowed his pace, but did not stop, waiting for Vincent to come to his side. The boy seemed to understand, increasing his own stride so that it became even with his.

"Can we talk?" Vincent asked, trying to keep the tone from being edged with that fury that was bubbling.

"I suppose," Sephiroth said, not looking at him.

He knew exactly what was on the boy's mind, and would have preferred the that he stayed quiet about it. Then again, it was good that Vincent was asserting himself.

Vincent took a deep breath, his left hand clenching at how there was no emotion attached to Sephiroth's words. "Why do you have to be like that? So short with me?" It came out sounding accusing, but he didn't care.

Sephiroth stopped walking, his green eyes trailing over the ground for a moment. He seemed to be considering the boy's words.

"I see you are angry," Sephiroth stated, bypassing the question altogether.

Vincent's look became bitter. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Sephiroth's head turned, the green eyes like crystals of ice. "I told you the terms. It is not my problem if you suddenly have the mind to disagree with them."

Vincent looked away, trying to keep himself from lashing out, from screaming at the seemingly emotionless man in front of him. Sephiroth was not all cold and apathy, Vincent knew that, however, what he didn't know was whether or not this particular time it was an act or not. If Sephiroth didn't feel like showing something, he didn't have to. Reading him was almost impossible.

"But..." Vincent shook his head, not letting any of the tears spill over his lower lids like they wanted to. "You didn't have to be like that. Not the way you were," he responded, not faltering under the steely gaze that was on him.

Sephiroth audibly sighed, though the coldness in his eyes remained. "How would you have me be, Vincent? Do you think that it is in me to hold and comfort you? You are not a child, not in the least. Do not expect me to treat you like one."

Sephiroth knew immediately that he had said the wrong thing, as Vincent's look became harsh, bitter lines, his fists curling then uncurling.

"I'm not asking you to do that; I never did," Vincent said lowly, practically shaking with anger.

"What do you want?" Sephiroth questioned, jaw set, maybe in irritation, though Vincent couldn't quite tell. Sephiroth came a few steps closer, suddenly inches from the boy, towering over him.

Vincent looked up at him, determined. "I don't know, maybe to not be used and thrown aside? Used is fine, I can deal with that, it's you having absolutely no respect for me otherwise that makes me mad," Vincent finished, staring at the green eyes angrily.

Sephiroth unexpectedly started to laugh, throwing his head back. The sound was dark and bitter, more a sound of hopelessness than anything else.

Vincent glared at him, hurt, and suddenly angrier than ever.

It took a moment before he finally stopped, silver hair falling over his pauldrons as he leaned forward, closer to Vincent. One of his gloved hands went to the boy's shoulder, the grip hard. Vincent tried to shrug it off, his perfect face turned furious.

"I have nothing _but_ respect for you. Would you like it if I promised you something I couldn't give you? If I feigned feelings for you then suddenly dropped you the minute we get back to base? Would you? I could do that if you like..." Sephiroth growled, his impassive face distorting with both rage and regret. "I respect you enough not to lie to you, not to lead you on. That is all I can offer you. That is more than I give to most," he provided, hand still resting on the boy's shoulder.

Vincent looked away, swallowing down some of the anger that seemed to rise up in his throat like acidic bile. But one of the black-gloved hands grabbed at his chin, forcing his face in the direction of the one looking down at him. His eyes darted a few times before finding green again.

"I expect you to be selfish, to take. You owe me nothing," Sephiroth whispered. "This does not have to be complicated, not in the least."

Vincent frowned, his eyes glassy with tears as he tried to sort through all of that while the anger still squeezed at his gut.

"I'm not like you," the boy ground out. "The more I learn about you, the more I seem to be realizing and accepting that as something to be proud of."

Sephiroth shut his eyes for a moment, face back to stone. "Good."

He removed both of his hands, though he did not back away. Vincent looked relieved to be released, but he still met the General's eyes with defiance. Sephiroth merely smiled, the expression looking tainted, evil almost.

As always, he seemed to have decided there was nothing more he wanted to add to the conversation, so he terminated it. "I want you to fight me as Chaos today," he stated simply, turning from the innocent, yet furious maroon eyes.

Vincent could only grind his teeth, knowing that asking for an apology or anything of the sort was going to be futile; Sephiroth was set in his ways on the subject. He hated how it was all affecting him, the coldness, the apathy. It made him hurt, but it also made the thing inside glow with something dark, something he didn't like. The more his anger grew, the happier the entity became, sending little shockwaves of pleasure through his limbs. There was something about the feeling that made his skin prickle, his face washed in an uncomfortable, foreboding heat.

Sephiroth was walking away, over toward the clearer section of beach they had been using for training.

Vincent only glared at the man's retreating back, wanting to sob or hurt something--not entirely sure which. He hated that he couldn't confront Sephiroth like he wanted to, make the man listen to him. Everything he had said Sephiroth had just brushed off as though it was nothing.

He tried to do the same, concentrating on other things just for the time being, when he would have to face the man. He could think everything over later, when he wasn't in front of that scrutinizing stare. He thought about training, the weird things he had been noticing.

It was odd; Sephiroth had hit him several times during their confrontations, yet he had not really had any bruising. Everything remained red for a few hours, but faded soon after. Even after facing the zuu, all the cuts and scrapes he had imagined showing up, never actually did.

Whatever was going on with his body seemed to be growing in intensity. His strength seemed a little better each time, his speed just a bit quicker. And his left arm...something was definitely going on with it. His grip was becoming frighteningly like iron, making the attacks with the gauntlet twice the consequence. It was getting easy to keep his fingers locked into place so that the claws could cut their deepest—even if it was only air.

Vincent transformed before he even got there, deciding if he wanted to get some of the anger out, catharsis might be a perfect approach. There was the burst of light, then the wave of energy, one that sent up gusts of air that caused the black trenchcoat ahead of him to twist and flap around Sephiroth's legs. The man stopped walking, turning to look as boy flashed to monster, red laced with swirling, mist-like black. It all was gone in an instant, leaving behind the winged, crowned beast, something from a nightmare, or from the farthest depths of hell.

Vincent took to the air immediately, wingbeats measured. He didn't rise very high at all, only a few feet, before deciding his course of action. He flew at Sephiroth without warning, white fanged grin looking a little less well-meant than usual. Sephiroth only offered a dark smile, waiting until the flurry of red and black passed over him, the sliver of Masamune ascending at it almost playfully. A golden, clawed hand wrenched it aside just it made contact, but the power behind his block inadvertently threw Vincent off course. He had flown in way too fast, and was so close to the ground that his unsure wings flapped in panic as he tried to avoid careening downward.

He hit the rocky ground hard, not far from Sephiroth, clawed hand digging into the dirt to prevent him from tumbling across it further.

He had forgotten how new he was to flying. Luckily, his armor-like carapace prevented any damage, but it was still irritating to have so easily been cast aside by a single blow of a sword.

Sephiroth was watching him calmly. "If you plan to attack me in anger, ensure that you are able to do it well," he commented, giving a flick of his wrist that kept the glinting blade's sharp tip from scratching over the unforgiving ground.

Vincent's look became darker with anger, as he unfolded his crumpled wings, lifting off for the second time. He spread out his arms, using them for balance as he tried to read the wind that kept whooshing past him. His body was easily swayed by it, the membranes of his wings catching like bits of flimsy material and trying to tear him every which way. He wasn't sure how to prevent that from happening, trying to gauge it from his very limited experience.

But rage was enough to give him a reckless bravery, as were the curling emotions of Chaos itself, who seemed to have emerged somewhere inside, alert and in search of blood. He let out a snarl that was only half his own, ascending several feet up before deciding on a plan of attack: he would do it like the zuu had, from above.

Sephiroth only observed, making no move to do something offensively.

The man's hair was being whipped about again as another strong breath of the wind hit them both like a wall. Vincent struggled to not be affected, just as he flew over, missing his dive. The breeze had come just as he was about to descend, and he knew from watching the zuu that the timing needed to be good, particularly with someone like Sephiroth. Not to mention, he was taking the man's advice, waiting before striking, even though he wanted nothing more than to give Sephiroth a taste of what he was feeling.

Vincent had not noticed that the wind had only just suddenly become so strong. He was unaware that Sephiroth was strengthening it with a spell, simply to see how he would react and adapt.

He circled a few times, quite quickly, waiting for a small break in the breeze before tucking his wings in. He dropped like a stone, his aerodynamic build making him similar to a projectile. Just as he was getting close, he opened his wings to their full span, the thin skin catching on an oncoming gust at the exact same moment he went for Sephiroth with his taloned hand.

The overlong sword swiped at him the same instant, clashing against the gauntlet with a loud screech of metal. It had purposefully avoided the wings, which it could have easily slashed through before Vincent had even come in close enough to strike.

Again, Vincent could not get a hold on his body, but this time was so close to Sephiroth he instead went accidentally crashing into him, wings erratically trying to give him lift when it was already too late.

Sephiroth used the misjudgement to his advantage, an arm crushing around one of the wings as they both went flying down to the ground in a mess of silver hair and demonic wings. The impact was on Sephiroth, whose body scraped over the rocks for a few feet from the power delivered by Vincent. It was, Vincent reminisced, like Sephiroth's fight with the real Chaos.

There was an animalistic growl, as a clawed hand immediately went for him when he seemed most vulnerable. One of Sephiroth's gloved hands grabbed it by the wrist, keeping the claws at bay with an almost equally strong grip.

They wrestled for a moment, arms locked, Vincent's white teeth bared menacingly. One of Sephiroth's long legs snaked between them, bent for a moment before he immediately released a kick into Vincent's abdomen—he knew it would have little effect as far as harm went, given the almost impenetrable casing that covered the boy's body. The blow was strong enough to throw Vincent off of him, rolling to the side. The boy was quick to recover, using those claws like spikes to dig in and catch his balance.

Sephiroth had gotten to his feet as Vincent came toward him at a run, wings held close so that his speed was hardly effected. Sword met gold talons, both with brutal force behind them. Chaos's form was strong, incredibly so. He knew that if Vincent got a handle on it he would be almost indestructible while implementing it.

They fought, Vincent in rage, Sephiroth in calm awe, as he watched the transformation of boy to something dark, relentless. He knew it was the same killer instinct that Vincent must have used to shoot the men in Wutai. He wasn't surprised that the boy was going to extremes; he was obviously very upset.

Masamune kept grazing his black, hardened body, not doing any damage, but still causing a blistering of pain. He swiped with preternatural grace and speed, no longer the almost wild, erratic slashes that he usually had to use to keep Sephiroth from hitting him. He sidestepped a lot, avoiding the blade entirely, and always keeping his wings close so that he did not risk getting them torn.

He would never kill Sephiroth; no matter what had happened, the man was just cold, the more he looked at it. There were parts that were human and parts that weren't, and he could either hate Sephiroth for it, or grudgingly accept it and keep the man at a distance. He wasn't sure what he wanted; he was too consumed by the wrath in him to know or even care in those moments. He would not kill Sephiroth (he knew he wasn't capable anyway), but he would like to leave some rebellious slashes in him.

All there was in the world was Sephiroth and Masamune. He concentrated on it, centering every hateful feeling on getting through that constructed barrier where sword parried his every offense. Everything had a weakness, and Sephiroth did too.

The man did not relent, his offense becoming even harder to stave off as he himself became absorbed in the fighting. Sephiroth was a blur, more so than he was (though he suspected he could come close to that were he to train often as Chaos), sword just a smear of sliver like paint lashed through the air, gone in a blink to strike somewhere else.

There faces were inches apart as sword locked with claws, Vincent's arm shaking as he prevented the sword from coming closer.

"You believe you are the only one to endure such heartlessness?" Sephiroth asked, his tone dark, hateful, though it was not meant for Vincent.

Vincent's arm was faltering under the strain, his yellow eyes glowing malevolently.

"I could tell you about my own, if you would like," Sephiroth stated, ripping Masamune away, as they began to tear at each other again.

Vincent did not reply, though he was taken off guard.

"Heartbreak is so cliche and dull. It can be overcome, must be. For me, my own has become all so inconsequential. Nothing but a lesson." Green eyes glimmered with something unreadable.

"You don't care about anyone but yourself, do you?" Vincent said in the strange voice of Chaos, as he moved in to attack.

"Hardly anyone, you are right on that account. But I would not tell you this if I did not think it would be important to you. It may mean almost nothing to me now on an emotional level, but that does not mean it would have the same lack of impact upon you," Sephiroth commented, slashing the claws to the side. "I would tell you, even if it is something I do not speak of. Even if it is something I prefer to forget."

The yellow dulled somewhat, the glow less intense. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that I would expose happenings to you in the hope that it would further your own experience, make you prepared. You do not have to experience things firsthand to learn, you can merely learn from what you are told, that is if you are trusting of the source," Sephiroth added, his eyes passing over with a shadow.

"And if I'm not?" Vincent questioned, grating his claws into silver metal.

"Then you would have to decide whether or not I am lying, then evaluate the information accordingly," Sephiroth stated, a small smile on his lips.

"Then tell me," Vincent said, his anger not totally outweighing his curiosity.

They fought for a few moments before Sephiroth finally seemed to decide what to say.

"The man who taught me the sword, he said to me once, when I was very young, 'sex is a more powerful a weapon than any sword. It has caused more wars, more anger and resentment than anything else. People draw conclusions from it, illusions of love, then they act on them'. He claimed that 'the world would be doomed without conflict', that we would more or less lay down and die because there would be nothing to fight for. He said love was key, or the idea of love—considering he did not believe in it. Supposedly, he thought mass war would cease had men no love for their country or no heart for their women. They would have nothing to cause much turmoil, is what I believe he meant."

"I guess that is sort of true if he meant selfishness also," Vincent said through clenched teeth, parrying the sword that came flying toward him.

Had his hearing not been enhanced it would have been impossible to hear Sephiroth over the sounds of their weapons, but even when speaking in low tones, Vincent could hear him.

"I used to not believe that, what he said. I think what convinced me, however, was when I went to war and saw it—that feeling. It is painted across faces as plainly as blood: an absolute willingness to die for what one believes in, what one, for lack of a better term, _loves_. When you kill a man, look him in the eyes and it will undoubtedly be there. Maybe not for all, but for most," Sephiroth stated, a distinct nostalgia coming into his voice.

"That man, he was the first person I ever decided I loved," Sephiroth said through a cruel smile. "I had no mother, no father, so he took that place for me. I think that perhaps was the reason why it was so difficult to deal with what he did to me."

Vincent was looking directly into Sephiroth's eyes, his expression both confused and pained, all the while his fury rolling beneath in a powerful wave. What did Sephiroth mean?

"He was not a very kind person at all, probably closer to a monster than a human being." Sephiroth smiled ironically, not at all in happiness. "He enjoyed toying with me, taking me to extremes to see if I would crumble, and of course, Hojo did not protest."

They were still striking at one another, though much of the fury and relentlessness had faded, as both were drawn into the conversation.

"The first time I killed someone, I was eight. I did it because he requested it of me. He said that if I loved him, I would kill for him, so of course, I did."

Vincent missed a block, sword scrapping against him harmlessly.

"I had no one. Gast was often occupied with other things, and had little time to spend with me. I became focused on training, then eventually, on the man teaching me. He was cold, colder than anyone I have ever met. Everything he said was bathed in icy water, frozen around the edges, tainted. It was as though nothing was ever good enough, not my performance as a fighter, not my education, not anything. I learned to either accept his opinion or wither under it; generally a combination of the two," Sephiroth recalled.

"You wanted someone to love you," Vincent concluded. His eyes were narrowed, but suddenly something was snaking through his gut, an almost dread as he started to have ideas of where the words were leading.

"Yes. Not even love, just...care. I wanted someone who cared," Sephiroth agreed. "The demands became exceedingly worse, more cruel. In return for his time—which he often reminded me was precious—I had to do what he asked of me. He threatened to leave if I did not do as he wanted. Needless to say, I did as he demanded. I was too young to see the trap, still innocent enough to believe that his words were true, that he would not try to hurt me. And I was too afraid of being completely alone again.

"I became a killing machine rather quickly, though I do not believe that was the worst of it. I did many things that I will never say out loud, many terrible, reprehensible things. The first thought many people have when they think of 'abuse' is something physical, but it is so much more than that. Rape and learning to fight from a mentor who was intentionally forcing me to a physical breaking point, were the easy parts. The most difficult was deciding whether or not I was the one that was the monster for accepting it, for not fighting every single time. The question I always asked myself was, 'am I wrong for wanting anything, even if it is something ugly and disgusting?'." Sephiroth's tone had become flat, as he seemed to cut himself off from what he was saying.

Both had stopped fighting very suddenly, Vincent's yellow eyes staring at the dirt.

"Everyone will hurt you Vincent, whether it is me or someone else. You must always know when you are being played, when someone is using you for their own selfish intentions. They may sidle up to you and smile, but it is nothing but a game to them, a place where the emotions and feelings of others are apathetically shoved aside."

"You know that, yet you still did it to me," Vincent said, the crested head of Chaos lowering slightly.

He could feel himself relating to Sephiroth's sad words, yet that biting rage kept rising over it. Everything about Sephiroth was suddenly becoming clear, the distance, the coldness. Was he just becoming as dark as the person who hurt him? Could he really blame Sephiroth for shutting down like that? Sephiroth hadn't raped him, not by any means, but that feeling afterward, the horrible hopelessness from not feeling cared about...he could only imagine what that would have been like if Sephiroth had forced him. And if it happened again and again, what would he himself have done?

"I am not a hero; I am nothing but a villain in disguise. I would never love you, no matter how far things went. In a way, I did it to teach you a lesson, as well as to pursue my own selfish needs. I won't deny it." Sephiroth paused momentarily, his eyes holding a similar sadness to the one Vincent felt, though it was much older. "I do not wish to break you, not the way I was broken, but I want you to learn here and now that there will likely never be anyone will ever care for you and mean it. You have to accept that, now, before it is too late. You know that and you might live, might survive."

"For what? To live for nothing?" Vincent asked, his voice sounding shrill to his ears.

Sephiroth was more or less telling him to trust no one, yet what was there but trust? What was outside of that in a place based on relationships with others, regardless of whether they were good or bad?

"Purpose...that is one of the filthiest lies ever created," Sephiroth mused bitterly. "We are mortal so we crave reason, meaning. We want everything to culminate into something, some larger picture that makes it all okay." Sephiroth shook his head, eyes becoming cold again, yet with a dark hatefulness underneath. "There is nothing here, Vincent. Take what you can get. Steal it if you must, as it makes no difference. If you want the pathetic, sad truth, it is that this life is not worth it. I can tell you here and now, after all that I have seen, that there is nothing of use to be drawn from it to suddenly equate it to a holistic purpose. Take the good, kill the rest," Sephiroth finished, icy gaze unblinking.

"It doesn't have to be that way," Vincent said angrily. "You only make it that way because your view of everything has become darkened. You're pessimistic, unable to see the good anymore." Vincent's words sounded sure, but on the inside, he had a deep doubt, one that made his breathing quicken.

Things weren't the way Sephiroth said, no matter what had happened to him. What about Angeal, what about Zack? They cared, not only about Sephiroth, but about him too. Wasn't that something? Loving people and making some sort of impact on their lives? Couldn't that be meaning? He could almost see why Sephiroth wouldn't believe in it, and he couldn't help but wonder how he would feel about all of it later in his life. Would he think differently?

"Maybe you are right," Sephiroth said with a laugh. "After all, the one who has seen everything knows nothing, yes?" Sephiroth was smiling again, but it was not a happy expression. "I care for you enough to tell you the truth that I keep locked away for everyone else. It is not my choice whether or not you choose to use it."

"You didn't have to hurt me, yet you did. I can't really understand how that is caring, Sephiroth," Vincent said after a moment.

"I do not expect you to ever understand," Sephiroth answered.

"Maybe I could if you would just explain it to me. Maybe you could've just told me not to trust anyone, like you said. Had me learn without experiencing. Don't you think that would have been better?" Vincent asked, voice noticeably pained.

"Would it have worked?" Sephiroth questioned, walking closer. "I told you not to expect anything from me, yet you did. It is not in your nature to listen to words that go against your beliefs--it is in no ones. That is why words almost always only have impact on those who are likeminded to the speaker. That is why I can tell you not to get hurt yet you will do it anyway."

Vincent frowned, hating how true the words were. He hadn't listened, had he? He had been warned yet fallen into it anyway, not bothering to look back.

"You could have at least tried," Vincent said, his voice shaky. He was angry, but sadness was beginning to overcome it, finally.

"Yes," Sephiroth agreed in almost a whisper. "But for you, it would have been in vain. You care too much, that is your flaw." Sephiroth was watching Vincent as intently as ever, his eyes again thawed momentarily. He did not want to say what he was going to say, but he did it anyway, "I would hurt you to make you stronger. Know that as twisted as that may seem, it is my way of protecting you."

* * *

**A/N:** Surprised? Unsurprised? Wanting to strangle the author for some reason?


	35. Dancing in Quicksand

**A/N:** Sorry for the delay---trouble writing these last few chapters. Anyway, as always, I must pay homage to my reviewers. Particularly Luna who drew me some fanart! Which was insanely awesome.... I'm all smiling like a lunatic now...I'll shut up. Thanks to: Ray of Starlight, celestral, OvenBased, Chicken Nova, Gismo1, whatevergirl, kiralover44, cotton, CaseyAnn'sPrecious, Luna, Identity Crysis, NicotineGum, Bakimono, KT, and -CNFB- !

* * *

Vincent could only stare at Sephiroth, looking both pained and very much upset. Chaos's eyes seemed to lose their intensity, the yellow going even more placid.

He knew what Sephiroth meant, finally. With what the man had admitted, and everything else, it all made sense when put together. It was 'twisted' as the General had put it, but there was an underlying cause, a reason. It wasn't just selfishness anymore, but something very sad as well.

Vincent didn't know much about abuse, in fact, up until Sephiroth said something, he had assumed he did not really known anyone who had been through something like that. It hurt to think about, because no matter what had occurred, he cared for Sephiroth. If he didn't, the man brushing him off wouldn't have been so horribly painful, and wouldn't continue to hurt like it still did. He felt a lot of empathy for him, especially when he realized how much their needs coincided with one another's.

They both wanted what they couldn't have. Sephiroth's logic was childish, but it was, in a way, understandable. He simply did what he knew would desensitize Vincent, because it had been done to him personally and been effective.

It could have all been a lie; he wasn't completely naive, but the way Sephiroth was looking at him.... There was something there that made him believe it. Everything had a reason, all of the more negative personality traits, it explained them in a sense. Even the selfishness suddenly was not just there, it had been _put_ there. Who wouldn't have turned selfish because of it, stopped willing oneself to care about others?

How heartless would Sephiroth be to lie about all of that to him? No matter what the man had done recently, none of it was 'evil'. He had saved Vincent without intending to harm him in any way, yet it had still happened accidentally. He had sex with Vincent, but warned him not to expect the kindest treatment. Sephiroth may not have been a saint, but he had his purpose for doing things, and it usually wasn't horrible, but somehow well-intentioned, how ever biased or distorted his viewpoint was.

Vincent's eyes closed. He wanted to just be furious with Sephiroth, or part of him did, but now he was starting to feel both sorry for him and somewhat understanding.

Sephiroth was right, he was too sensitive; he cared way too much. He needed to stop. He needed to just forget Sephiroth and be done with it, but...he couldn't, not all the way at least.

"Why...?" Vincent asked, not sure what else to say.

"I do not know, not entirely anyway," Sephiroth answered, his eyes moving to the horizon like they were often disposed. "I see parts of myself in you, the lighter parts. The ones that were destroyed. For some reason I do not wish to watch it all fall apart. But you are...different. We are not the same; you have ideas of morality, you have a desire to help others. If I ever had such feelings, they could not have lasted long," he commented. "In a way, you remind me of Angeal, though...I would say that he is much more cynical in comparison. But as for your similarities, he looks for the good in people, even in me, when I may not be so deserving of forgiveness." At those words he gave a bitter smile, silver hair falling around his face.

Sephiroth wasn't entirely sure why he had decided, after all the years that had passed, to tell one of his darkest secrets to boy in front of him. Even Angeal did not know, as he had never quite found a way to tell him or considered it necessary.

When he said it didn't affect him emotionally, it was a partial lie. It did, in a way. But he felt...apart from it. The person from then and the person now were separate. He was not a pathetic child anymore. The admission was something he considered a weakness; it exposed his own flaws, something he was not keen on doing. But something about Vincent was too honest and empathetic for him to ever really be manipulative. That was what made speaking it aloud so easy.

The truth was, the past may have been the past, but it always seemed to snake its way into the future. No matter what he told himself, he was who he was because of the life he had led, much the same as it was for everyone else. It all was relative, however, to how much one chose to allow it to change them. And, Sephiroth knew, regardless of how much he did not like it, that he was cold and untrusting because of how his life had turned out. Even Angeal couldn't negate all of the betrayal, and Genesis certainly hadn't helped. It seemed as though each person he had ever known before SOLDIER, had used him for something. Each took what they needed and discarded the rest until there was whatever he had become. When it came down to it, even SOLDIER used him as nothing but a tool.

He did not need to be told that he had wronged Vincent; he knew. There was something in him that would never be apologetic for it, though---which he realized he should have felt guilty for. He knew he had a desire for control, for dominance, and it seemed as though that need had slowly seeped into every aspect of his life, and most certainly not always for the good. But it was part of who he was, part of what everything had molded him to be. He would not fight it; it was the one trait that gave him power, that had taken something weak and shifted it.

"You see me as innocent," Vincent concluded, shaking his head slightly, the crest feeling heavy. He would change back soon—he could feel that weariness coming on.

Chaos was strangely...quiet. Though it did not speak, all of its emotions were cut off from Vincent, blank. That in and of itself was troubling.

He hated his admission, but it was the truth. He was naive in so many ways, as he had so little contact with people throughout his life. He had always been out of the group, always on the sidelines, only able to watch, never to interact. He knew he kept making mistakes, especially when it came to Sephiroth. The man was more complicated than anyone he had ever met, and now he knew he had a darkness in him. That blackness made Vincent flinch, the better, moral part of him wanting to back away from it.

Then again, what had he expected from a killer? Sephiroth was a murderer. So was he himself, for that matter. But what did he think would happen after years of doing it almost mindlessly? Did he somehow believe he might still be able to 'save' people? Sephiroth had told him he could, but the scary reality was, when the time came, he might be too jaded to even try.... Just like Sephiroth seemed to be. He didn't want to believe that, but it crossed his mind just the same.

"Painfully so," Sephiroth agreed. "I would help you, but I have a feeling that you are not going to much want my assistance anymore," he said, observing Vincent.

"I...." Vincent frowned, thinking the words over carefully as he formed his own. "I know I need help, but...."

"You are not sure if it should be me?" Sephiroth prompted.

The boy nodded slowly, the gesture looking alien when done with the body of Chaos.

"Understandable. I may not be the nicest of people, Vincent, but know that I do want to help you."

Sephiroth walked a few steps away, into the wind. The breeze was salty and aromatic, making his eyes flutter closed from the peacefulness associated with it. Everything seemed to billow behind him, as he finally opened his eyes to stare at the raging sea.

"I realize that now is not the best of times to ask this question, however, it pertains to what we were speaking about."

Vincent's head was turned toward Sephiroth, though the man's back was to him. A look of confusion passed over his face, as he grasped at ideas of where this was leading. He waited, not really knowing what to expect.

Sephiroth's eyes met his, as the man looked over a shoulder after a few silent seconds. "I would like to mentor you. It would be entirely your decision, of course, but know that it is an option."

"You mean when we get back to Shinra?" Vincent asked incredulously, shocked by the offer.

Why would Sephiroth want to mentor him? Did he really care, or was he after something again?

"Yes. It would likely not occur in any organized schedule, as I am certain that when I return I will be sent off base frequently, but I would be able to during the time in between. I am sure Angeal will have no objections to assisting you when I am not able," Sephiroth finished, for once feeling a bit of apprehension. He quickly crushed it.

"Can I think about it?" Vincent questioned.

He knew it was an opportunity other people would kill for, but the idea of having to constantly face Sephiroth when he wasn't even sure how he felt about the man anymore...it would be trying. He knew he still wanted Sephiroth in that unattainable way, even if there would be so much resentment for what had happened. He knew now that running to Sephiroth was virtually the equivalent of bearing one's throat to a wolf; it might only nip playfully at first, but there was always a serious danger underneath. It could tear out everything in one single gnash of teeth, leaving behind a wound too big to repair.

The truth was, he knew if he stayed around Sephiroth, he would be angry over both what had happened, and the fact that the man would never give him what he needed. Then again, wasn't that what he should experience? Suddenly, Vincent wondered if maybe throwing himself into something that hurt _was_ the cure for all of what ailed him. He wouldn't do it intentionally, but he knew that if he agreed to the idea, that might be the way things went. As much as he knew he needed to stop being so trusting, the thought of being hurt again made him shy away.

Sephiroth gave a short nod, turning from the sunset. "Of course."

* * *

Angeal and Zack hadn't been back in Midgar very long, only two days. Though he and Zack had been quite busy during that time with getting everything organized again (Zack more of a tag along than anything), it didn't seem to have any effect on the teen's exuberance. The Second seemed thrilled at going to meet the new recruits who were coming into the SOLDIER program.

Not only were Thirds at the 'introduction', but some of the Shinra guard. It was the lower aspect of Shinra's military, complete with its own ranks and codes. Many of the younger, more promising recruits sometimes ended up in the SOLDIER program, along with whoever else the Turks managed to gather up.

There was a definite shortage in Thirds. Though there hadn't been an extraordinarily large group sent to Wutai, the loss of those that had gone definitely had an impact. Thirds, though easy to come by, didn't last long, and those that had been lost were the ones that had survived the tougher aspects of training without dropping out. Needless to say, it would take several squads to get the numbers back up.

For the time being, the Shinra guard were being implemented. Though they had no mako enhancements, some of their better recruits were almost as good as Thirds, if not a bit scrawnier. It would help to take up any slack that was a repercussion of Wutai. They would not have the same duties of course, but it had been decided that they would be used as backup on missions if there weren't enough SOLDIERs available. Angeal had a feeling President Shinra would receive several complaints about the new arrangements, as the guard wasn't all that familiar with the ways of SOLDIER and the two groups working alongside one another would likely prove to be a challenge.

Zack was standing next to Angeal, watching the new Thirds and guards with interest, as they slowly filtered into the room. He would not be speaking, but he liked he got to be there so that the younger ones could have a chance to see that there were normal teens in SOLDIER, not just the overly strong type like Angeal.

He smiled to them reassuringly, rocking on his heels slightly, almost unable to keep still for so long. He had been standing in the middle of the room for ten minutes, and was admittedly starting to get bored, but the recruits were enough to recapture his attention.

The room was rife with tension. The Shinra guard had wound up standing together toward one side of the room, while the newly chosen Thirds were a short distance away, also gathered in a group and looking apprehensive. Zack could remember being in their place, watching Angeal and thinking 'I hope I don't have to fight that guy'. Then Sephiroth had walked in and everything had grown so quiet he could hear the ragged breathing of those next to him who had been nervous. There would be no Sephiroth today though. The speech would also be much more generic, given that the guards weren't technically supposed to participate in the ceremony.

Reno was surprisingly well behaved, though Rude might have had something to do with that, given his stern expression that was detectable even with the dark sunglasses obscuring his eyes. He seemed to be keeping an eye on Reno, standing behind him looking ominous. Tseng was there as well, glancing over the prospects. Turks often showed up to these sort of events, mostly just to make their constant presence known. They were, in fact, everywhere.

Angeal was the one who gave the speeches this time, which might have been considered a good thing. Though he always gave the 'honor' speech, Sephiroth sometimes spoke as well. He usually said very little, but his voice was so flat and his demeanor so...off...that his was paid much closer attention to.

Many of the audience usually just watched him in awe, surprised that something splashed across posters and idolized quite openly was actually alive and breathing. His emotional distance seemed to usually ignite even more interest. Zack himself had never really idolized Sephiroth, he'd been more scared of him than anything. Even now, crossing the General was not something on his to-do list. But standing behind a bunch of other nervous recruits, he had definitely wondered what it would be like to _be_ him.

There was most certainly a greater ease to the speech than usual, given that the General didn't make an appearance. The room listened to Angeal raptly (he was very difficult to ignore, even though Zack had heard a similar speech countless times), though many heads still turned when Genesis came through the doorway quietly.

Genesis rarely appeared at the introductions, so it was definitely a bit odd. He walked with his catlike elegance, hands neatly held behind his back, one red glove resting in the other. He wasn't smiling, but he was at least easier on the room than Sephiroth was.

Angeal seemed to be equally surprised by Genesis's appearance, but made no indication of it except for a nod of his head while he spoke.

All eyes had moved to the man in rust-colored red leather, an earing glinting in his right ear, silver and dangling. He had moved to the other side of the room, not quite near the Turks or the recruits. He looked very relaxed, leaning against a table in the corner, his legs out in front of him.

The lecture went on for awhile, the room listening to Angeal again, though many furtively glanced at the man in red, who was quiet but not so attentive. Those who had been looking forward to seeing Genesis weren't so discreet about it, craning their necks to get a better view.

Genesis was watching Angeal, but not listening. He was running the verses of Loveless through his head, his fingers rubbing against the spine of the book that he had concealed in his coat. It did not leave his side, particularly now, when he had begun to suspect, almost sense, its fulfillment would be coming soon.

By the time the room had heard what it needed to hear, everyone was being shuffled out the door, off to a banquet lunch. Genesis had never said a word, simply a quiet presence that evoked similar feelings that Sephiroth did, though not half so intensely.

He moved through the crowd, noting that they dispersed to make room for him. But everyone was not so wary. A distracted blonde with rather messy hair was shoved into him none to gently as he went through the doorway, which caused Genesis to glower a little. He was hardly in the mood to deal with any of the Shinra guard.

"S-Sorry, sir," the blonde apologized, blue eyes revealing nervousness.

Genesis said nothing, simply moving past him to get out of the way of the chaos.

"Don't worry, he's moody to everyone," Zack said, seeing the somewhat embarrassed expression on the blonde guard's face.

"Not just me then," the boy muttered, watching the swirling red coat as it moved away. He looked toward the SOLDIER who had talked to him, realizing something. "You're Zack Fair," he said after a moment.

"Yeah, my reputation proceeds me, I guess," Zack answered with a friendly smile. He extended a hand, saying, "And who would you be?"

"Cloud Strife," the blonde answered, shaking the proffered hand lightly.

"Well, Cloud, the first thing I can tell you about this place is that everyone is grumpy—except me, I'm different."

Cloud shook his head shyly, smiling back. "Yeah, I kind of got that impression."

They walked out into the hall together, Zack a little ways ahead. Cloud thought that the Second would keep going, but he stopped when he neared the exit.

Cloud took the spare moment to ask a question: "So isn't...isn't the General supposed to be here?" he asked.

"He's on vacation, which is a scary thought. Beaches and drinks with little plastic umbrellas just don't sound like his sort of thing," Zack commented.

"You know him?" Cloud asked, very interested suddenly.

"Hey, don't get too excited," Zack joked, laughing a little. "He's not exactly...well no." He considered his words, "I don't really think anybody knows him. Not really. I know I don't," he said finally.

Cloud seemed to consider that, though he didn't say anything.

"Don't worry, you'll meet him soon. He's not so bad, kind of cool, actually."

It was funny, but Cloud instantly reminded him a lot of Vincent. They were both the shy type, though Vincent had lost a lot of that the more he had been around him. He wondered if Cloud would be the same way, though he wasn't even sure he'd ever really talk to the guard again. It was easy to get lost in the crowds on the base.

He'd talked to Angeal about Sephiroth and Vincent, but his mentor seemed as much in the dark as he was about the entire situation. All he had managed to get out of all of it was that Vincent was, like Sephiroth said, okay. But neither knew when he would be coming back. Angeal had assured him that Vincent was probably recovering at one of the hospitals and would return soon, though that hadn't really done anything to ease his worry. He wanted to go talk to Lazard and find things out, which he just might, if Vincent didn't show up soon.

Sephiroth was on vacation, which was one of the strangest things he had heard yet. He had asked Angeal twice just to make sure. He had a feeling he was missing something. It just seemed weird that they were gone at the same time. Maybe Sephiroth was helping him to recover? The injuries, from what Angeal had said, were pretty substantial. But why would Sephiroth be helping Vincent heal?

Zack wasn't sure what was going on, but he hoped they both got back soon. He was bored without a sparing partner to train, and had been growing rather fond of having Vincent around as it was. He also hoped that whatever had happened to Vincent wasn't too terrible, and that he would be okay when he got back.

As for Sephiroth, Angeal needed him. His mentor was quieter without the General around, which was kind of weird. It seemed like he never saw them together, but apparently they were better friends than he had ever thought. Angeal had also taken the brunt of the man's duties, and was being overworked more than ever to keep things moving smoothly. And if Genesis got anymore moody.... Angeal had more or less hinted that Genesis and Sephiroth were close friends, and that Genesis was always somewhat off when he wasn't around.

The base was just...different. It seemed to barely run at all without Sephiroth.


	36. Moment of Weakness

A/N: Damn, this fic is getting long. My reviewers! Thanks to: -CNFB-, Risikaa, KT, CaseyAnn'sPrecious, OvenBased, kiralover44, and Nalie! I'm really trying to stick with this even though I am usually the biggest procrastinator in existence :D KT, CaseyAnn'sPrecious, and OvenBased (you sort of asked...) you all asked about Cloud, and as far as I can see, he probably won't be a major character, though he will have his uses, I'm sure.... *evil grin*

* * *

Vincent did not sleep fitfully. He could hardly sleep at all, his mind scattering into so many splinters he could not collect them all and force them together coherently.

He felt alone, terribly alone, even though he knew Sephiroth was only a short ways down the hall, probably not even sleeping at all. His bed smelled like them both, and was a painful reminder that made him both sick with sorrow and somehow vaguely unsatisfied. What scared him was that he knew if Sephiroth asked, he would probably do it again. He would hate himself, hate Sephiroth more, but given time, he almost knew he would do it. How messed up was that?

He was still angry, that wasn't going away, but he still wanted Sephiroth. It made him infuriated that he did, as he moved over the sheets trying to get comfortable, able to detect the scent that wasn't his every time the fabric moved slightly.

Vincent did hate Sephiroth in a way. Mostly for hurting him, but also for making him want to forgive when he knew he shouldn't.

Chaos was roiling somewhere in his stomach, twisting, prying, making him anxious and angry. It seemed it was now back with a vengeance when he most needed reprieve from all of his thoughts. It enjoyed his suffering, furthering it. It made it impossible to sleep or concentrate on anything else while his body continued to feel things he wanted to just forget or bury somewhere.

He squinched his eyes shut, willing it to go away. Naturally, it didn't. That didn't seem to be the way things worked for him.

It took hours, but finally admitting defeat, he slowly moved up onto his arms, black hair hanging in his face. The drapes were closed, blocking out the moonlight, though its light changed their tint. He moved across the bed, throwing his feet over. He let out a sigh, not quite knowing what he planned to do. He just needed to get up and walk around or something. Laying down and trying to sleep obviously wasn't working successfully.

With ruffled hair, he moved over to the corner, grabbing his boots. He wouldn't put them on his feet, as it would be too loud. Sephiroth would likely hear him anyway, though Vincent wasn't sure if the man would be against him going out or not. It didn't seem like he would be; the man went outside at night himself, Vincent knew.

He tried to make his way out into the hall silently, barely allowing the door to shift at all. The hardwood flooring was cool on his bare feet, feeling good compared to the hot blankets that had seemed stifling the more he had turned over and tried to become comfortable.

Sephiroth's door was closed and no light came from beneath the door, though he knew that didn't really matter. Sephiroth, during the last few days, had never once turned the lights on to his recollection. It was strange at first, but Vincent had found it was very soothing on his sensitive eyes, and helped when he came in from outside, his head pounding from all of the bright rays of the sun.

He was beginning to realize that Sephiroth liked the dark.

When he walked into the kitchen, Sephiroth was sitting at the table, his green eyes reflecting from the dim white light that was filtering in between a space in the dark curtains. They were absolutely predatory, making Vincent stop, his breath caught in his throat from the unexpectedness of it.

Did his own eyes reflect like that?

Sephiroth said nothing, his eyes piercing into Vincent's unblinkingly. Something about it was both frightening and strangely alluring.

"I see you could not sleep," Sephiroth observed finally, breaking the awkward, almost deafening silence.

"There's a lot to think about," Vincent said honestly, walking into the kitchen. His hand rested on the island as he kept his eyes on Sephiroth.

"So there is." It was stated flatly, without any feeling whatsoever.

Vincent immediately tensed at the change in tone, wondering if it had been a bad idea to get out of bed. He wasn't sure the thing he needed at the moment was another conversation with Sephiroth. His mind wasn't ready to face emotionlessness.

Sephiroth was drinking from one of the mismatched coffee cups, the glinting, mirror-like surface of his eyes never leaving Vincent. There was something resting on the table behind the man's hand that he couldn't quite distinguish. He mistook it for a piece of silverware because of the vague shine to it.

"Come here, Vincent," Sephiroth said, setting down the ceramic mug lightly.

He could feel his own pulse quicken, his breathing wanting to become shorter, though he tried in vain to keep it even. Chaos seemed to be tearing at his insides suddenly, squeezing and pinching in a not so subtle warning. Even his own mind warned him against it; he was not ready to deal with this yet, wouldn't be for awhile. What did Sephiroth want?

Vincent shook his head, ignoring the desire in him. "I'd better not," he whispered, gaze dropping and wandering over to the island. He knew he couldn't. If Sephiroth had asked at any other time though....

He was surprised by his own refusal, but knew that it was the intelligent choice. He wasn't ready. He couldn't. Not now. But he wanted to, he couldn't deny that.

"Fine," Sephiroth said, getting up from the table.

The chair scraped the floor roughly, making Vincent flinch. His posture went rigid, blood beginning to flood too quickly into every vein from the instant nervousness and uncertainty.

"I can't," Vincent asserted, though his voice was soft, unconvincing.

"No?" Sephiroth asked, coming closer. He didn't move to stand in front of Vincent, instead he stopped more to the side of him, the glow of his eyes more powerful than ever.

"I..." Vincent tried to form words, but he was having an inner struggle, attempting to deny the neediness in himself, though he knew it was almost pointless.

A hand extended, a cool leather-clad finger barely touching Vincent's chin. He made a noise from somewhere in his chest, one that sounded frustrated. He took a step back, ceasing the contact with the last stubborn part that wanted to preserve his sanity.

"No," he stated again, his eyes becoming fearful, not from Sephiroth, but what was going on inside of him. He _wanted_ to go to him. Everything was screaming not to, but that didn't stop the urge from nearly making him bolt forward.

Vincent didn't have to make the decision. Sephiroth paid the word no mind, stepping close enough that his black coat fluttered against the boy's legs. What happened next, was so shockingly unexpected, that Vincent gasped.

A loose hold consisting mostly of leather, was suddenly around him. One arm snaked around his waist, while the other went to his upper back. It was an awkward embrace, very much platonic.

It was uncomfortable at first, very stiff and unyielding on Sephiroth's part, as well as his own. He was so surprised that it took several seconds for him to register that it was really happening. There was the smell of the leather itself, then of Sephiroth, which now was salty and almost oceanic, the sea having permeated his clothing and hair. But he could smell that sweat underneath it all, and knew that the man hadn't taken a shower. Something about that fact was strangely satisfying.

Vincent didn't struggle, finally melting into the form that was both cold and warm at the same time. He could feel the heat of the man's body through the leather, but the material itself was almost as cold as the floor. Silver hair was tossed over his shoulder and tickling down his neck, reminding him of the last time they had been that close.

Sephiroth himself seemed to lose a little tension, his hand moving to Vincent's hair, where it pushed through the ebony locks, that hot breath somewhere above the boy's head. The whole thing was extremely comforting, to the point that Vincent let out an inadvertent sigh.

"I can't be like this for you," Sephiroth said, his face against the silky black hair. "It isn't in me."

Vincent could feel his eyes wanting to tear up, but he bit his lip to stop it, knowing it was stupid, knowing he would be nothing but a child to want something so weak and as desperately as he did. He nodded into the coat in grim acceptance, burying his face in it, one of his hands grabbing onto the leather and bunching it into his fist.

"Just this once," Sephiroth whispered, his lips touching the boy's ear, a gloved hand smoothing back the black hair.

* * *

Nothing had happened since that night over a week ago. Sephiroth had held him for a short while, and that had been it. The man had thankfully asked for nothing. And much like before, Sephiroth made no indication that he remembered the occurrence. Thinking back to it made Vincent want to shiver. It had been...perfect. He had needed some sort of kindness, no matter what the form, and the man had finally relented and given it to him. It had been so unexpected, the last thing he would have ever predicted to happen. Sephiroth seemed to become more and more mysterious with time.

He could almost come up with nothing as to 'why'. It was so...unlike everything he knew about the General. Sephiroth did not often touch people to be comforting; like the man had said, it was not him. He could remember being picked up off of the floor by Sephiroth back in the labs, and the very few times the man had reached out and chastely put his fingers under his jaw, but that was it. Sephiroth did not use physical action to calm people, instead he more often just soothed almost coldly with words. So why? Had the man felt guilty?Sephiroth seemed so inhuman at times, that even guilt was difficult to picture. He wasn't sure he would ever know why the man had suddenly decided to cater to what he had craved so terribly.

Had Sephiroth not been so careful to keep his distance, he might have almost brushed it off as some sort of fantasy. But Sephiroth had shown that he was capable of being kind, even if he did not appear to be naturally inclined to be that way.

Vincent could feel his resolve weakening.

Learning to use Cerberus was one of the most challenging skills Vincent was trying to master. Not only was the gun heavy and bulky, but he literally felt like he was going to dislocate something when he fired in succession, or worse, when he let all three barrels hurtle out bullets at the same time. There was a sort of 'master' way to cock the gun, which was by pulling back the center hammer as far back as it would go. This would allow him to use the gun as an automatic, where he would just squeeze the trigger and it would go off until it ran out of rounds from all three cylinders.

It turned out that although Sephiroth did not use a gun when fighting, he was still quite proficient with them. He used Cerberus with an ease that Vincent envied, his stronger hands and arms able to take the recoil with a learned grace. But even so, he was improving quickly. Sephiroth had brought enough bullets for him to get a fairly good start.

The training with Chaos was not easy either. Sephiroth was learning it just as much as he was, sometimes showing an open surprise to the abilities it gave Vincent. He had discovered that as Chaos he could use magic, something he had never done before. The man was teaching him the basics, how to get the effects he wanted, though he knew that it would take years for him to fully understand all of it.

He had always known Sephiroth did not use materia, but he had never realized how complicated it was. Instead of having a single ability at a time according to whatever materia was equipped, he was able to choose what he wanted. He would eventually even be able to blend different magic together, according to Sephiroth (something he wouldn't be trying until much later). But it wasn't just choosing; one had to know what they wanted. He had to think 'fire'. He then had to tell that fire to come from his hand, and then try to manipulate it, all of which turned out to be quite difficult. It was, however, making the magic that was the hardest part.

Sephiroth told him to use emotion, so he did. That was actually how it had all come about, anger. During one training session as Chaos, he had been trying to attack Sephiroth from above, circling and waiting. Just as he had dived downward, a ball of energy was directed straight at him, blue and glowing. He had swerved out of the way to avoid it, his wings folding in close, protected. For some reason, his hand seemed to move of its own accord, as Chaos raged somewhere inside, fury bubbling into Vincent, corrupting his own feelings. Then, without any idea of what was happening, he had sent a flaming sphere streaking through the air at Sephiroth.

The man, ever one to anticipate the unexpected, had moved out of the way, but had been surprised enough to not completely get out of its path. The blazing orb had grazed the end of his black coat, which had caught in the wind when he had evaded. It left the leather singed, a distinct burn mark stretching down one side of it, leaving that spot permanently discolored and shinier on the surface.

Sephiroth hadn't been angry, in fact, he had said "Well done" while examining the damage to his coat.

It was getting it to happen again that was difficult. Vincent tried to get angry, tried to think about hurting Sephiroth, but it wasn't in him. He would think back to everything, which would get him mad, but not enough that he wanted to physically harm the man that was teaching him. So instead, he concentrated on Hojo, on Chaos, thinking about what he was. If he could also bring in some leftover anger about Sephiroth, he did. Then there would be a flicker, and a flame would come to life in the palm of his gauntlet, small, but deadly all the same. It was fleeting; he wasn't able to produce it long at all, but it was definitely a start.

It took usually took emotions to bring about effects. Sephiroth had explained, however, that it was all a matter of perspective, that it would work with any emotion that was intense or somehow malicious. It just so happened that anger and hatred were stronger emotions, and were easier to direct at enemies.

Technically, the emotions didn't matter, but Sephiroth had said that attaching emotion would work well for him. It was hard to simply think 'fire' intensely. When it was linked to something, it became much simpler, it suddenly had mental energy focused on it. Then he would concentrate on heat, on flame, or whatever he was trying to conjure. When the magic had intent behind it, it wasn't half so difficult to manipulate.

The blue spheres and slashes Sephiroth himself created, turned out to be of no element. They were simply raw harnessed energy, which he had explained was the most powerful, but was more difficult to learn to create. It was also much more draining.

That was the one negative side effect: the draining on his stores of magic. Each time he managed to use the magic it would lessen the time he could remain Chaos. It was only a temporary, but he knew that if he wanted to use a lot of the magic he would have to do so in a very short time frame, or otherwise use it sparingly.

It was finally, at the end of another grueling session of training, that the subject from before came up again. Vincent had been fighting Sephiroth with his gauntlet again, his breathing rapid from all of the stress he had put on his small body. He could tell he was getting stronger though, which was encouraging.

"Have you thought it over?" Sephiroth asked unexpectedly, watching the ocean waves, as he offhandedly returned his sword to his back.

Vincent didn't have to ask what the man was talking about; he knew. It was something he had been thinking about since the day it had been offered. It was one of the reasons he had slowly been moving away from the anger that Chaos fed off of.

Vincent nodded, then said quickly: "My answer is yes."

The slit-like pupils looked preternatural in the sunlight. They seemed as though they should only be completely nocturnal, so animal-like, dark. But somehow they suited Sephiroth. It was when the green eyes focused in on him, that he couldn't help but think he could be making a grave mistake. They would likely see each other regularly, and they would be interacting. There were so many things that could go wrong.

Sephiroth could teach him many things, but he could also hurt him in ways he knew no one else was capable.

* * *

Tseng was standing in the briefing room behind Lazard, who was seated in front of a laptop, fingers moving over the keys hurriedly.

The glare of the computer screen reflected off of the blonde man's glasses, concealing his eyes for the most part. His hands were gloved in a white leather that was folded into neat cuffs at the wrists, and he wore a dark, fitted suit with a crisp dress shirt beneath. His blond hair was above his shoulders, curling up at the ends, with long bangs that framed his face. He looked very much the part of Director of SOLDIER.

"So?" Tseng prompted, his eyes moving over the text that wasn't obscured by Lazard.

"It appears the body was found just under an hour ago, in the southern part of Wutai. The description is...rather lacking." Lazard's gloved hand moved to his chin almost worriedly, while the other clicked open another window. "There," he said, turning the computer so that Tseng could better see it.

"That is him," Tseng confirmed. "Hojo's assistant."

"Yes, well, this is what he looks like now," Lazard stated, switching to yet another window.

It was a picture of what once used to once be a man. His face was virtually missing, white, blood covered skull revealed underneath the tatters of what was left. There was a mop of hair, which was held together in jagged locks by clinging bits of flesh and dried blood. The rest of his body, which was naked, was covered in wounds, some of which looked to be septic.

"They took their time," Tseng observed, looking over the photo with distaste.

There was a balled up white lab coat, sprayed with red blood almost as it if was done purely for effect. Placed on top of it was a laminated ID, the one the assistant had used at the lab to access the rooms.

"It says that this was exactly how he was found," Lazard murmured distractedly, reading a smaller page full of text in the corner of the screen.

It was quite the message, but from whom? Tseng had more than his share of ideas, as the coat and ID were very suggestive. It was obviously done by someone very angry, someone who wanted revenge, or could it be something else? There were quite a few who had things against Hojo and his lab, but the assistant....

Sephiroth was the first who came to mind, but that explanation made little sense. He was gone, and even had he returned for some reason to end the assistant—Renault was his name—he would not have bothered to take him to Wutai or to torture him. He had not tortured Hojo, so it was almost completely certain that Sephiroth had nothing to do with this particular murder.

That left the most logical answer: someone in Wutai. There were many groups, so it would be more than a little difficult to get to the real answer. But the main question that struck Tseng, was why? Why now? This could have happened sooner, yet it had not. It had happened after Hojo's demise, which might be important. The war though, that was what seemed to provide some purpose. The Wutai had recently lost another battle against Shinra, so perhaps they went searching for a scientist, but why? And why did the scientist end up brutally mutilated, dead? There would not be much use in killing someone you needed, unless perhaps he was not the original intended.

Tseng knew he was missing many pieces, but his quick mind was already beginning to place the few bits of information he did have into a broader picture.

The wheels of Wutai were rusted, nearly broken down, but they were still moving. The minds behind the once great scattering of empires were not silenced by an iron fist, they still moved unheeded. The enemies had banded together. But were they all the cause of this, or was it someone in particular?

Tseng had a feeling this was something disconnected, not quite a part of everything that had happened. The death was not the normal beheading standard of the Wutai.... Things were very complicated with so many volatile groups being pushed together.

What was the saying? 'The enemy of my enemy is my friend'? That seemed to be the exact problem. Shinra had many enemies, now they were conspiring alongside one another. They would have to remain vigilant. There was purpose behind the killing, and whatever was brewing would likely have a negative impact upon Shinra if not stopped before fruitation.

The Turks had quite a lot of digging to do.


	37. Hate

**A/N:** I'm keeping up with this for all the lovely people who review for me all of the time and everyone else who reads :) And Luna who made me ANOTHER awesome fanart! Totally made my day.... Thanks to kiralover44, KT, tokidokilove, -CNFB-, CaseyAnn'sPrecious, whatevergirl, JadeOokami, and Luna! We skip through some time in this chapter, I'm not sure how it all worked out, so feel free to voice your opinions on that.

* * *

The flight back to Midgar was both welcome, and somewhat dreaded. It seemed as though, for Vincent at least, that another lifetime had taken place away from SOLDIER. More had happened in that short absence than in the entirety of his life.

He was apprehensive to go back, mostly because of the strange relationship he had with Sephiroth. He more or less knew that the man would be back to that awful nothingness once again. There would be no half smiles, or unexpected confidences given. The man would be back to being General, the pillar that kept SOLDIER standing.

Then there was Chaos, who was unpredictable. He felt that he had gotten a handle on it overall, but he knew that his control was partially an illusion; Chaos could still effect him. The alien feelings would not just be willed away, and even the Protomateria seemed powerless to stop any of it. He would have to be very careful if he planned on keeping it all a secret.

It had been a mutual decision to return sooner than originally intended. Sephiroth, from what he could see, had been growing steadily more restless. The man had been gone from the house more often than he had been in it, Vincent often spotting him disappearing down the beach. He knew that it was probably one of the first time's in Sephiroth's life that the man had actually taken a break from work. And he always seemed to be, from what Vincent had seen in Midgar, everywhere at once. He could understand the restlessness.

Vincent too, had become more withdrawn. He had begun to worry about his place back on base, though he knew that Sephiroth's training had definitely improved his skills for the better. Regardless, he knew he would be even more separated from everyone than he had been previously. Zack would probably be his only real friend, if the acquaintance they had could be called a friendship.

Though he felt closer to Sephiroth in the sense that they better understood one another, he felt farther away as well. There was no teasing or playfulness to Sephiroth, just seriousness. Those few glimpses he had of that other side of the man were completely gone. But at least it wasn't cold like it had been, there was at least some emotion below the surface....

They took the bike back to Nibelheim, using the same rocky trails as the first time. It wasn't as frightening as it had been before, because this time Vincent didn't hesitate to hang onto the body in front of him. It went by much faster, especially since he didn't find himself half as bothered by the contact; instead he found it very relaxing, though there was certainly an underlying arousal.

Reno and Rude had been there to pick them up, the former his typical talkative self. They had landed in an open clearing, leaving the helicopter running, Reno hanging out the doorway, Rude pushing him out of the way to help with the bike.

"So you have a good time?" Reno said with a grin, his ponytail tangling from the harsh wind created by the blades above their heads.

"Yes," Vincent replied with a smile. He really had, minus some of the more trying days.

"Oh goodie," Reno answered, not bothering to make any move to assist Sephiroth and Rude as they began lifting the bike up into the helicopter.

Vincent at least managed to get Reno out of the way, jumping into the cabin before the other two had gotten inside with the load. Reno was perfectly oblivious, even as Vincent pulled him away from the doorway by the arm.

"Ya know, I think you got taller," he commented, raising an eyebrow. "Don't you think he got taller, Rude?"

Rude only grunted, trying to balance the weight of the heavy motorcycle, his brow wrinkled in concentration. Vincent went over to help, but couldn't do much as Sephiroth easily towed it in by the front fender, obviously capable of doing it by himself had the situation called for it.

"He was not gone very long. If he did grow, it was likely under a centimeter," Sephiroth answered logically, already bending down to lash the bike to the built in handles on the floor.

Reno snorted. "Killjoy," he muttered, arms crossing over his chest as he watched everyone work while he continued to stand around. "So what's with the number you called from?" he asked, speaking to Sephiroth.

"I used a phone in town."

"Yeah, town in the boonies. You really are being all secretive about this. Makes me kind of...suspicious," Reno said smugly, messing with his goggles. "Tseng is weird about that sort of thing."

"Go ahead and tell him if you must," Sephiroth replied, not the least bit perturbed.

The redhead frowned at the response, looking vaguely disappointed. He watched the work for a short while, surprisingly quiet, though it didn't last that long. "Well, let's get this shit goin', yo!" he said obnoxiously.

He staggered toward the cockpit with something that was too clumsy to be called a swagger, ignoring the fact that he was the only one ready for takeoff.

"Hold onto something; I had a bit to drink..." he let out a loud burp in emphasis. "You know at the bar...there were strippers...it was nice...."

* * *

Zack was between classes when he got a text from Angeal telling him to meet him. It wasn't all that uncommon for his mentor to call him somewhere, so he didn't read into any. He stopped by the cafeteria to get something to eat, then went toward the Third's quarters, figuring there was a problem that Angeal wanted his help with.

The Thirds were a bit of a distance from the rest of the facility. The isolation had many purposes, but the main one was that Thirds came and went frequently, and few actually remained. Thirds were almost considered to be outsiders in a sense, as they weren't exactly trusted, nor were they really given much respect as far as rank.

Though they were certainly many steps above the guard, they all had yet to prove themselves, and were still considered to be of the rank of 'private', as though they had no real title in SOLDIER. It was thought to be in everyone's best interest that the lower ranks knew as little of the inner workings of the program as possible; such initiative rights were reserved for Seconds.

There were a lot of younger SOLDIERs milling around, some talking, others playing basketball on makeshift courts, while still others went on their business to their next course.

Angeal was easy to spot, tall, and stronger looking than the Thirds by far. His skin was sharp contrast to the shorter boy in front of him, their aesthetic appearances complete opposites in most ways. It was the boy next to his mentor that made Zack grin wholeheartedly, then give a wave. Vincent smiled and gave a wave back, though he seemed to be talking to Angeal.

Zack hurried over to them quickly, not minding that people were staring. He stopped at Vincent's side, slapping him roughly on the shoulder with a smile that was infectious. "Hey man, it's good to see you're back!" he said excitedly.

It was only seconds before he had wrapped the smaller boy in an enthusiastic hug, grinning and squeezing him tightly. He roughed up the neatly combed black hair for good measure, while Angeal could only hold back laughter at just how affectionate his student was.

"Zack," Angeal said sternly, though it was obvious he was trying not to smile, his irritation completely feigned. "Little less crushing."

"Oh, right," Zack answered, looking a bit downtrodden, though he had just remembered that Vincent had been hurt and he might not be helping.

Vincent had taken the assault rather well, only smiling and laughing a few times at how happy Zack was to see him. It felt nice to be missed. He couldn't help but find Zack's attitude lightening his own even more than it already was.

Finally, Zack let go, looking over to Angeal who was giving him the 'you know better' look.

"So how are you, did you heal and everything?" Zack asked, ignoring the silent reprimand.

"Yes, I'm much better," Vincent answered, still unable to stop the small smile.

"Cool. So when are they going to get you back into the program? Have they said anything yet?"

Before Vincent could respond, the Commander answered for him, "He will be back into the routine soon enough."

"We still get to train together and stuff, right?"

"Right," Vincent replied quietly.

Angeal took advantage of the brief break in conversation: "Now that you have said hello, I think it might be time to let Private Valentine get everything unpacked," Angeal said, still looking serious.

"Oh, come on, Ang—"

"Zack." Angeal could only shake his head as he said it, trying not to allow himself to smile and encourage the teen further. His expression became a lot more stoical when he realized that they had an audience.

"Fine," Zack replied in exasperation. He frowned almost comically, giving his mentor his best annoyed expression. "See you around Vincent."

"Fine, _Sir_," Angeal corrected, not giving an inch.

"Fine, sir," he murmured in response, his look still sour.

Vincent laughed a little as the Second walked away looking a lot more depressed than when he had shown up. Several of the Thirds were more or less blatantly staring, surprised that Angeal had allowed Zack such leniency. They didn't realize that the man would be talking to the Second about a 'time and a place' the next time there didn't happen to be a crowd around.

"Glad you're back, Valentine," the Commander said once Zack had left, clapping a hand on the boy's shoulder reassuringly for a brief moment. He'd learned from Zack, surprisingly, that some physical contact was in fact reassuring, though he would never make much of a habit of it. Vincent, however, was an exception. He didn't have to have it told to him that the boy had gone through a lot while he was gone; the Third appeared...strained to an extent.

"Don't worry, it won't be difficult to get used to everything again," Angeal consoled, upon seeing the Third's apprehensive expression.

It wasn't SOLDIER that Vincent was worried about, but he didn't say that to Commander Hewley. He had a lot of other things on his mind."Yeah, I know," he answered softly.

* * *

Sephiroth was at the edge of his waning patience, but made no outward indication, as cool as ever, though his words were not. "What you are saying is that it is now perfectly acceptable to dispose of guards in the place of SOLDIERs, yes?"

Though he had little interest in the guard or its well being, he was already thinking of the many consequences it would have on the SOLDIER program. It was a breach of security, for one, allowing guards to wander the base more or less unattended, and it would also complicate missions on which they would be the accompaniment. But these were not President Shinra's concern, he knew. No, the concern was keeping Wutai repressed and continuing with regular missions to ensure that SOLDIER remained in the public eye as capable and vigilant.

"They are not expendable. But the fact of the matter is, we need more men. We are far stretched as it is," the President argued, his face reddened slightly from the obvious frustration he was feeling.

"Why is it that this sounds so incredibly familiar?" Sephiroth questioned, walking forward in a way that was reminiscent of stalking, his hands grasped behind his back in a tight, unyielding grip.

He was alone with the President in the office on the topmost floor. There was a long meeting table to the left that could fit twenty people comfortably, lined with high-backed, plush leather chairs. The windows were across every wall, letting natural light fall over the expensive black marble tiles and overstuffed sofas spaced throughout the immense room.

It was, upon observation, both elegant yet somewhat snobbish, the gold-trimmed frames gaudy around their scenes of tranquil lakes and sprawling estates, while the mini busts of famous poets and philosophers seemed almost condescending.

President Shinra was not necessarily an arrogant man, however, he could be stubborn at times. He believed he knew how to run Shinra, but it had slowly become more a military than it was a company, exerting control over everything around it with an iron fist. Shinra knew nothing of war, though he had managed to keep things fairly grounded through trial and error. If anything, it was Rufus that Sephiroth had a very strong distaste for, though he certainly was not fond of the President either given the man's choices as of late. That lack of fondness only seemed to increase with time.

This was not the first discussion they had, but one of several. Upon arriving at Headquarters, Sephiroth was immediately summoned to a private meeting with the President. That had been expected, as were the topics that had been covered before the current one.

It had more or less gone similarly to the conversation he had with Tseng in Wutai: questions as to his whereabouts, questions about Vincent, then of course the several 'why' questions. It had not been as articulate an attack as Tseng's, not nearly, but Sephiroth was more than annoyed with it all anyway.

He had neglected to even tell President Shinra that he would be mentoring Vincent; he was tired of the personal questions and had decided that his reasons as to why he would be training Vincent were entirely his own. Questions would arise, but they would be silenced, he would see to it.

"You were right about the Seconds and Thirds," the President conceded, though it seemed halfhearted.

Sephiroth resisted the urge to scoff, instead allowing his leather-clad hands to squeeze each other uncomfortably.

"But this will not be your SOLDIERs. We need replacements. Most of these recruits are at least somewhat battle experienced—"

The President paused when Sephiroth smiled sardonically.

"They will be more prepared than Thirds, even if they are not as skilled."

"I'm sure," he said dryly.

"There is little else I can do, can't you see that?" Shinra asked, looking flustered. "If I don't increase the numbers, everyone will suffer."

"Don't you think that this might be a decision that needs to be discussed with Lazard, considering he is the Director of SOLDER?" Sephiroth questioned, walking even closer to the desk that the President seemed to hide behind.

"Lazard has given the go ahead, as has Rufus."

Lazard? That was unexpected. But Sephiroth knew that Lazard was not the fool that Shinra could be; he would likely have a legitimate reason. It would be something he would need to see the man about.

Sephiroth gave a brief nod, knowing there was no reason to argue. When it came down to it, what did it matter, anyway? They were not his SOLDIERs; he would let the President do as he would with them. But if they got in the way...that would be another matter entirely.

"Have it as you will," Sephiroth said complacently, through with the argument. He had already started for the door, not caring to be dismissed.

Before he left however, he looked back over one of his silver pauldrons, halting momentarily. His tone was bland, but the words somehow conveyed a venom none the less: "If they in any way impede the work of my SOLDIERs then you will be the first person I come to see," he stated threateningly, his face back to impassive.

The words seemed to cut like a blade, President Shinra sobering from his belief that Sephiroth had been agreeing with him for once. His brow furrowed deeply as he straightened in his chair. He nodded grudgingly, jaw tight, uncomfortable.

Even the most powerful of men knew crossing Sephiroth was a road straight to death. The President could only hope that he had the General's allegiance, regardless of what the man's feelings toward him were.

He did not want to end up in front of the blade instead of safely protected behind it.

* * *

The walk to his rooms seemed longer than usual, which was likely due to the countless interruptions along the way. Though Sephiroth was not one to tire easily, there were only so many questions and greetings he could stand before he started becoming very short with people. Or perhaps it was just the injections.

Whatever he was doing was not working. He had tried the most logical combination, but found that his mood swings were becoming almost unbearable. He could control them to quite an extent given his years of practice, however, when it came to anger and irritation he almost felt no reason to restrain himself given the drugs' influence.

He had already begun to toy with the idea of stopping the injections completely, but he knew that the consequences might be worse than a few mood swings. He would wait, change the chemical compound again, but he knew that if Hojo had been reaching his end as far as a 'cure', he had very little chance of succeeding himself with such a limited knowledge. He did not have subjects to test on, only himself, and that was not a very sturdy alternative given his job description.

That night with Vincent had been interesting. It had certainly had the effects he had wanted at the time, though he knew that in the future it all might prove disastrous. The drugs had helped, making it easier to push his guard aside for awhile, however, affection was a very blunt tool, and as a consequence it never created anything clean cut. Vincent could interpret it all sorts of ways. The boy obviously craved love in any form, and to give it to him would eventually create problems no matter how careful he was.

It was selfish, to be sure, but he in a way, wanted Vincent for himself. It wouldn't last, he knew, and in the end Vincent would be nothing but broken and untrusting, but it seemed to be where the boy was headed regardless of his own manipulations. Currently, he decided to not focus on the consequences; there seemed little point. He had started something and would finish it whatever the outcome, because if he cut Vincent off, the boy would probably break, and if he didn't he would likely still break at some point. There seemed to be no winning anyway.

It was with distraction that he opened the door to his room, not bothering to switch on the lights. He could tell immediately that there was something off, as he detected a scent that didn't belong. His apartment was heavy with it, as though from days of exposure.

His bags were neatly placed next the couch, untouched as he had requested. He bypassed those, moving past the livingroom and into the further depths of the blackened rooms when he saw no one lurking in the shadowed corners. He came to the bedroom door, stopping and looking to the floor for a moment, his gloved hand on the knob. He would not turn back, but that did not mean he wanted to deal with what was coming. He pushed it open after a moment, easily snaking his way through the space almost silently.

The room was the darkest of them all, the windows with heavy metal slats over them that he often kept tightly shut. He did not like windows in the places where he slept; it was a natural animal inclination to be in an enclosed, seemingly impenetrable area.

The bed took up most of the space, covered in a layer of soft, silken blankets. There was a door to a bathroom in the right corner, one that was wide and expansive with ornate tiling. The room was virtually bare except for the bed, though there was a concealed closet and a small night stand on the side of the bed closest to the door.

"Genesis," Sephiroth said softly, observing the man that was sitting on his bed, hands clasped over his knees elegantly.

"So the hero returns," the man addressed, utterly mocking.

Genesis looked visibly tired, his eyes not as bright blue as they normally were, but dimmer somehow. There were discernable dark patches under the intelligent eyes, giving the impression that the man hadn't bothered to sleep in a few days.

Sephiroth did not answer, standing in the darkness, unreadable. He only watched his friend with detachment, wondering where it was that the person he knew had gone. There was someone angry and bitter in his place.

"You took a vacation, I hear," the redhead said conversationally, tilting his head slightly to better examine Sephiroth.

Again, Sephiroth made no response, knowing that it was futile. Genesis would only rebuke him, and he was not interested in playing games, though somehow he knew he would end up in one all the same.

"And you weren't alone."

Sephiroth already knew, from that simple sentence, what Genesis was doing. "What gave you that impression?" he asked tonelessly, not moving from his place.

"Oh, quite a few people. Unlike Angeal, I am not so easily placated with illogical explanations." Genesis was smiling, though it was in no way friendly.

"Are you attempting to impress me with your ability to gain confidential information?"

Sephiroth knew that the only way to get under his friend's skin was to more or less insult him in some way. It was the quickest route to discovering what the man was after; it made him lose his calm.

Genesis let out a short, humorless laugh. "Would it impress you? Just as much as weak Thirds with black hair and sultry eyes?" He laughed again, looking positively malevolent. "You, my friend, are so very predictable. I do find your reasoning questionable though, but that is another matter."

"Of what concern is it to you, Genesis? I thought you had no interest in my doings. You would not happen to be feeling pangs of jealousy?" Sephiroth stated, letting the words bite from how flatly he had said them.

"No, I'm just rather sickened that you have resorted to virginal boys." There was an almost theatric pause. "What would Angeal say?"

Sephiroth's eyes darkened considerably. So Genesis planned to blackmail him. How quaint.

"Why, do you plan to tell him?" Sephiroth questioned, his tone suddenly dangerous.

"I don't know, should I? I suppose that _technically_ you can fuck whoever or whatever you want off base, though, then again the whole age issue is still a problem."

"What do you want, Genesis?"

"So was it good? Did you enjoy it? I know I would have. He is rather sweet and defenseless looking. Perfect for someone with such complexes as yours," Genesis commented with a smile, completely ignoring the question Sephiroth had asked.

"You will stop now." The voice had gone from dangerous to commanding, the green eyes glinting in the dark. "Do not make me ask twice."

"Or what? You'll kill me? Murder me? I've heard all of your threats, Sephiroth, and quite frankly they have begun to sound boring."

The General only glowered, his left fist tightening.

"See, all bark, no bite. One thing I have to ask, did you pull your signature? The entire 'seductive, caring lover who comes then goes completely cold'? I do have to say, that was always my personal fav—"

Genesis didn't quite get to finish, as Masamune was drawn, the blade a mere inch from the sensitive skin of his throat in a flash of metal. For some reason, he had not expected Sephiroth to react so quickly, but fortunately it did not change anything; he knew the man would only threaten not kill.

"—orite." Genesis eyed the blade. "We always have had such a volatile relationship, haven't we?" He smiled at his own words, not looking the least bit bothered at having the sword at such a vulnerable point.

"You are going too far," Sephiroth stated, his fury showing in the intensity of his eyes.

"Am I, or are you simply taking it all too harshly? Don't tell me you love him..." Genesis tried to sound nonchalant in tone, but there was something that flickered in his eyes.

As much as Genesis had grown to hate Sephiroth, he could not ever bear to see the man love someone else when he himself hadn't been acceptable. It was some sort of residual jealousy that had outlasted their on and off relationship. He had feelings for Sephiroth still, but none that couldn't be outweighed by the dark loathing that had continued to fester the more Sephiroth was seen as the 'hero' and he was nothing but someone in the man's shadow.

Things would change, that he would ensure. His feelings for his friend had already faded, and would soon be dead. There was almost nothing left as it was; it was more than easy to hate the seemingly perfect, cold man in front of him.

"Hardly," Sephiroth answered.

"Good. It would be terrible of you to break your ongoing record by actually caring for a change, though of course the 'vacation' and the saving of a Third are still highly questionable," Genesis responded.

"I want you to leave. We have nothing to talk about," Sephiroth stated, withdrawing Masamune.

"You always dismiss me when the conversation doesn't go your way. Not very brave of you," Genesis commented, rising from the bed. He stood about a foot from Sephiroth, blue eyes meeting green.

"No, I only dismiss your games."

* * *

A/N: Cruddy edit, but it is 4:00 in the morning. Heh.


	38. Dark Looks, Shy Glances

A/N: Sorry. Delay again. I really have been trying to get these chapters out, but I'm being pulled in every direction.... Damn holidays. :D Thanks to: NicotineGum, kiralover44, whatevergirl, -CNFB-, CaseyAnn'sPrecious, tokidokilove, OvenBased, and KT ! I LOVE YOU ALL! Happy vacation-ness (if you have one...)! This wasn't edited well, but I tried.

* * *

It had been difficult at first for Vincent to readjust to being back in Midgar. Things had gone on in his absence, more friendships had formed, stronger than he was capable of ever making. It didn't affect him too much; he was very much used to being on his own, though he had admittedly found a certain comfort in constantly having Sephiroth around. The habit was easily broken, however, when he again realized how different he was from those his age, particularly those in his squad.

He knew he was a loner. He spent his time away from the others whenever possible, choosing books to playing sports out on the blacktop or going often to the private training rooms to both avoid the heat as well as to get practice time in on his own.

He had already trained several times with both Zack and Angeal, more and more often with the Second. Zack had a lot of free time since the Commander hadn't been assigning him to missions much. Zack was easy for him to get along with, as the teen wasn't demanding in any sense, almost always in a good mood, and wanting nothing more than something to do in his spare time.

Vincent had not seen Sephiroth since the day they had arrived over a week ago. He was beginning to wonder if the man had changed his mind about mentoring him. The thought made him nervous, but he did his best not to think about it, grateful that at least Commander Hewley didn't seem to mind training him. If Sephiroth did back out, it would be extremely disappointing, but he knew that just to have the offer in the first place was more than he ever expected.

He was still angry, though it had all definitely subsided. It had almost become an undertone to his daily life. Chaos seemed to be forever lurking, making itself known at the most inconvenient of times, catching Vincent off guard and vulnerable. Sleeping was the worse part, because he knew there had been plenty of nights where he must have shouted in his sleep, as the other boys in his dorm seemed to whisper about him more and more often.

Sex dreams were luckily few and far between, mostly just a repeat of what had happened with Sephiroth, all the way up to the heart wrenching end, where he was left alone naked on his bed, wishing in desperation that the man would return. He didn't like to think about it at all; he didn't have time to focus much on sex, and he certainly didn't need to replay the darker parts of the act in his head.

Classes were more strenuous than the training. Most of the classwork involved group projects where Vincent was constantly left out. He didn't necessarily want to be included, but it was always difficult to explain to professors that none of the other students were interested in working with him. More often than not, he was forced into already-formed groups, where he felt more like a tag along than anything else.

The training from Sephiroth, though brief, proved to be invaluable. He was ahead of the others, not by much, but he knew with time that gap would widen. He was faster than the best in their squad, and his strength after all of the experimentation, was more than comparable. He could hold his own more than ever, which helped make him feel more confident about what he was doing, not as apprehensive.

The gauntlet had gone over badly. Many of the other Thirds thought that it was not only strange, but unfair that he got to choose his own weapon. It had quickly been arranged by their new squad leader that Vincent wear the gauntlet, but still practice with the sword during training sessions on blade tactics. It was somewhat cumbersome, but he wasn't all that unhappy with the arrangement; he knew Commander Hewley had probably had a hand in it, and that it was good that he try to learn the sword more efficiently even if it wouldn't be his primary weapon. He could practice with gauntlet in private.

"Hey, you want to get lunch or something?" Zack asked, doing squats compulsively while Vincent practiced stances with a sword.

They were training yet again, for the second time that day, since they both had free time. It was a Saturday, Zack's 'day off', while Vincent had very minimal exercises to attend, just a run in the morning and one in the afternoon, then another sword lesson afterward.

"Yeah, I guess," Vincent answered, slashing to the side with the heavy broadsword. It didn't feel half as hulking as it had previously. It was almost...light. The change in his strength never ceased to surprise him.

"Cool. Let's go then; I'm getting kind of hungry."

They walked out of the training room, Zack a few paces ahead as usual, running his hands along the doorways as he went. They weren't far from the room when the man Vincent recognized as Genesis rounded a corner, coming their direction. He appeared distracted, staring down at a phone as he almost jogged down the hallway, the red coat billowing behind him. A single earing shone in his right ear, Vincent noticing it easily, as it stood out from the red hair. The man looked up just before he was past them, his eyes becoming calculating. He stopped abruptly, phone forgotten for the moment.

"Sir?" Vincent said, aware that Genesis had not only stopped walking, but was suddenly looking at him very intently.

Vincent's thoughts went back to the incident before Wutai, where he had inadvertently walked in on Genesis training and the man had been none to gentle to him. He had bruises for days afterward, and had been more than a little sore. He was not fond of Genesis, even if he was the friend of both the General and Commander Hewley. The man seemed dangerous, reckless even, and obviously hadn't shown any concern over hurting him. He planned to stay away from the man, when at all possible.

"Hello, Private Valentine." Genesis paused for a moment, then almost as an afterthought: "Fair," he addressed, his blue eyes never once leaving Vincent's darker maroon ones.

It hadn't slipped Genesis's mind that he had met Vincent before. He remembered the Third all too well, the way he had fought so weakly. The boy's face was memorable, pretty even, if one could use such a word. The eyes were far too innocent, too trusting. Easy to hate.

Vincent was the one who had caused Sephiroth to get more than a little angry with him. Genesis had not forgotten, never one to discard trespasses without dealing with them beforehand. How intriguing that the boy should strike up a friendship with Angeal's playful little puppy.

Now was not the time to act, not with Fair around to run his mouth of to Angeal later. No, Genesis knew that he would have to wait, no matter how much he itched to do something...drastic.

"I hope you are feeling better," Genesis said with a secretive smile. He tilted his head slightly, a mocking sort of gesture.

His eyes were piercing for a brief instant, boring into maroon before he brushed past the two SOLDIERs in a rush. He left behind a scent of sweat and anger that Vincent's sensitive nose detected. Rage was practically emanating off of the man, regardless of his bizarre smile.

Genesis was smirking at the walls, his blue eyes darkened somewhat. The boy hadn't even had time to respond to him, or perhaps didn't know how.

"Well, that was weird," Zack stated, looking back over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of the First.

"Yes it was," Vincent answered softly, his breathing a little uneven.

There was something very wrong about Genesis.

* * *

The air was chilled, more so than Sephiroth was accustomed. Each gust of wind washed over his bare chest, sneaking into the folds of his coat and causing his skin to raise into bumps. His hair kept falling over his shoulder, and he let it, using it as a sort of veil to keep the worst of the weather at bay.

The mission had been very abrupt; he had not even had time to properly prepare, something he was never keen on doing. But this was an instance where time was, as the old saying went, of the essence.

The snow covered peaks were all around, some distant, others seemingly right up next to him, though they were in fact miles upon miles away. The sky was consumed by an ugly clouding of grey, interspersed with streaks of rebellious black and hints of blue. A storm was coming, and he did not have much time. He could smell the ice in the air, feel it in the dryness of each breath he drew in, bringing with several tiny, swirling snowflakes that stuck to the inside of his mouth.

He was on the trail of someone suspected to have a hand in the killing of Hojo's assistant, Renault. Sephiroth himself had been surprised by the assistant's demise; it also caused problems for himself where injections were concerned, but that was something he would have to address later.

AVALANCHE. Tseng was certain it was the group that was at fault. He had more or less told Sephiroth that he believed they had chosen to attempt to take Hojo as a last resort. The uprising must not have had as large of an impact as they had originally intended, thus they were trying to even the score.

Though AVALANCHE was an eco group, they did not consider it beneath them to assist the Wutai, in fact it was thought that some of their members might have been Wutai. They were using the war as a way to pursue their own personal agenda: saving the Planet through _any_ means necessary.

They believed the Shinra Corporation was killing the Planet with the energy plants that were drawing the mako from the ground, slowly draining life from it. According to their philosophies, the Planet was a living being, and by using its life energy as a source of power, it was slowly going to wither, then die, leaving behind a barren wasteland incapable of being a host to life.

They were more an eco terrorist group than anything else. They had killed more than their share of innocents in their attempt to overthrow Shinra. They had also killed a fair amount of SOLDIERs, something that made the mission Sephiroth was on much more personal.

Tseng had suspicions (for reasons he had yet to reveal), that AVALANCHE was going to create its own supersoldiers. Hojo's secretive research was something they were interested in, and for whatever reasons, they had not seemed to think that they could bribe him into their service and were consequently going to take him by force. Unfortunately for them, Hojo had ended before they were able to use him. Renault, it was thought, was taken as second best, but had been killed when he couldn't provide enough about the knowledge they were in search of. It was all theory of course, but none the less, it was what Sephiroth was forced to go by.

Sephiroth buckled a few of the belts on his coat, shaking his head quickly to disperse the snowflakes that kept coating his eyelashes and hair and leaving cold specks of water across his skin. It wasn't much farther.

* * *

"W-what are you doing here?" The voice was shaky, fearful. The pupils dilated to huge black orbs, almost overruling the brown irises that surrounded them. "How did you find me?"

"It is my job," Sephiroth answered coldly.

He was standing above the man who was crouching in the snow, having been trying in vain to repair one of the perimeter cameras. The target did not realize that Sephiroth had disabled every single one.

Sephiroth did not move as the man got to his feet in a rush, tripping in the calf-high snow. His eyes were wide, wild even, as he moved over the packed ice, scrambling for purchase. It was only when the man was several feet away that Sephiroth bothered to walk forward, looking entirely in his element. There was nothing that suggested the cold bit at his exposed skin, or that the icy eyes had any feelings besides numbness and apathy. It was like looking upon a man that was more monster than human.

"I don't know what you want...I just work for them. I don't f-follow their creeds, nothing," the man whispered, his lips and jaw showing his shivering.

The pink skin of his mouth had a bluish tinge to it from being exposed to the weather. He was wearing a bulky brown coat lined with some sort of plush, cream colored fur, while his mousy brown hair was slicked back underneath the large hood that only partially obscured his features. It was, Sephiroth knew upon sight, the one he had been sent for.

They were on a slope, one that ascended the nearby mountain and led to a labyrinth of narrow, dark caves. According to the Turks, the barren mountain range was serving as sort of headquarters for AVALANCHE, as Shinra did not have troops placed out so far from civilization and in such a physically trying area. It was a mistake, of course, but it kept SOLDIERs from dying.

Within a few well-placed steps, the General easily caught up to the struggling man, who repeatedly fell onto his hands and knees in his hurry. Sephiroth grabbed him by the back of the coat, before flinging him to the side, a short ways down the slope. The man couldn't keep his balance, more or less shoved face down onto the snow as he toppled.

"I'm not a fighter!" he protested, eyebrows and hair peppered with snow, as he looked up from where he had fallen, laying helplessly on his stomach. He didn't dare try to get up. The snow was freezing; he could feel it even through his thick coat. "I swear, I don't know anything, I'm just one of the tech guys!" He was visibly shaking, both from the cold and extreme fear. He knew all to well about the man who had followed him. He stood no chance, not having even the slightest bit of combat training.

"But yet you were the one who assisted in killing Renault, were you not?" Sephiroth questioned, toneless and impassive.

"I—Look. I didn't have any choice, they were going to kill me, okay? I'm sorry if he was your friend or something, I'm really sorry...I never wanted to kill anybody, I just wanted a job, that's all."

Sephiroth's expression remained one of nothingness, though a deep laugh suddenly echoed through the snow-filled landscape, dark, out of place somehow, even in all the bleakness. It was short, cutting off before it had even truly begun.

"Friend?" Sephiroth seemed to taste the word. "I will kill you. You believe that AVALANCHE could possibly do more to you than I am capable? You will talk or I will cut; it is that complicated and that simple. Entirely your decision of course whether or not it takes one slash or twenty."

The man swallowed nervously, his hands curling inside the sleeves of his coat to avoid the cold that was inevitably seeping in. "I don't know much," he confessed, his eyes darting to the impassive green whose gaze he could not bear to hold.

"Tell me what you do know."

* * *

"Hey, Cloud, right?" Zack asked, inviting himself to sit at the otherwise empty table.

The cafeteria was bustling, SOLDIERs everywhere, of all ranks, given that it was the so-called 'day off'. Some of the guard were there as well, most huddled in the corners avoiding interpersonal contact for the most part, just observing the strange people and surroundings quietly, even though they had already been on base for a short while. Many of the SOLDIERs seemed to ignore them for the most part, though many had originated from the ranks of the guard themselves.

"Yeah," the blonde responded, his blue eyes traveling to Vincent who seemed unsure as to whether or not he should sit down as Zack had.

"Do you mind if we sit with you?" Vincent questioned, deciding to be more polite about it than the Second had been.

He wasn't particularly interested in sitting with someone he didn't know, but he knew it was basically too late to back out. He would be eating lunch alone if he didn't stay with Zack, and he was alone so much as it was....

"It's not like anyone else is going to," Cloud said drearily, looking down at the plastic tray in front of him that had been sloppily filled with food by one of the servers.

Vincent took a seat across from the blonde, watching Zack, who was already shoveling food down. The other teen, Cloud, was giving him a few awkward glances, so he took the initiative to introduce himself.

"Vincent Valentine," he stated softly, extending a hand.

Cloud shook it warily in a barely there grip, eyes going to the gauntlet that covered over a good part of his left arm. The blonde was apparently too shy to ask about it, and settled for just looking at it curiously a few times before pushing around some applesauce.

"So you're Cloud?" Vincent asked in clarification, since it didn't seem like the guard was going to say anything else.

"Yeah. Cloud Strife." His strikingly blue eyes darted across the table for a minute before returning to Vincent. "Sorry if I seem rude, I've just had a busy day," he added as an afterthought.

"I know how that goes," Zack commented with a loud sigh, eyeing the energy drink he had just opened.

Vincent only shook his head, a small smile hidden behind the black hair that kept drifting into his vision seemingly of its own accord. As if Zack needed more energy.

There was a long silence, in which Zack chewed loudly, and slurped at his drink, and Cloud seemed to be counting the linoleum floor tiles. Vincent just ate his food, not really worried about it; it seemed everywhere he went there were long delays in speech. Either no one wanted to talk to him, or they didn't want to talk in front of him, one of the two. The Second was completely unaware of the tension at the table, biting into a graham cracker with some noisy crunches.

With Zack, such quietness could never last long. "So you ever going to ditch that broadsword, or are you going to go Angeal style?"

"I don't really do well with the katanas or anything lighter," he replied, noticing that Cloud had stopped eating to listen.

"Yeah, you do seem to be doing better with it now. But you could use something a little more well made. I was thinking maybe we could go into the city if you get clearance and try to find you something that might work easier. There are a couple of places, if you know where to look," Zack said conversationally.

"That sounds like a good idea," Vincent agreed, seeing how Cloud was looking more awkward than ever. He was more than aware of what it was like to be the outsider with nothing to say. Feeling somewhat guilty, he decided to change the course of conversation. "How's your training going?" he asked, looking at the guard in question.

The blonde seemed a bit taken aback, but after a few seconds swallowed down his food and managed to recover: "Uh, it's...not too bad." He looked between the two SOLDIERs for a moment, looking nervous. "It's better than I thought. I was kind of disappointed not to meet the General though," he admitted, breaking eye contact.

"Sephiroth syndrome. I remember you said you wanted to meet him," Zack said with a grin. "Normal around here. I thought you would get to at least see him by now, but the firsts are busy lately. Who knows, maybe you'll get taken on mission with one of them."

"Really?" Cloud asked, sounding doubtful.

"Yeah, I mean from what Angeal has said all of the Firsts have been taking guards with them on almost every new mission. I'm surprised you didn't hear about it."

"I don't really know anyone," Cloud murmured. "I was bunked alone."

"Not a bad thing," Vincent said softly with a half smile. "The barracks here make it very cramped. I have some really messy squad mates, and at times you can't get through to your bunk with all of the things they pile on the floor."

Cloud smiled back, looking amused. Vincent could tell the guard was finally relaxing, looking a lot less troubled. It seemed he wasn't the only one who had difficulties finding his place amongst a group of SOLDIERs.

"Even Sephiroth is taking guards with him?" Cloud asked hopefully, his face flushing somewhat.

Vincent noticed the embarrassment, thinking back to his own interest with the General. Hadn't he been the exact same way, and wasn't he still? Sephiroth seemed to cause uncertainty and intrigue wherever he went. It was considered an everyday occurrence for the lesser ranks (and even the higher ranks, Vincent decided) to look up to him in an extreme sort of way. He really was a hero in that sense.

"I guess so. Can't see why not if everyone else is. Angeal said he is taking two on his next mission." Zack looked a little less than enthusiastic about that admission, but it was negated by the happy expression that passed over Cloud's face. "I could put in the word for you if you want," the Second said trying to sound nonchalant and failing incredibly.

"No, that's alright. I think I'll just stick around and see what happens," the blonde answered, looking over to Vincent again.

"Missions aren't what they seem at first glance," Vincent stated, his mind swirling in nostalgia.

Vincent wasn't sure if he was even ready to go on mission. The thought brought back memories of blood sprayed across buildings and mangled corpses. Missions were not pretty things, but he knew he would have to face them sooner or later.

He couldn't help but think it was probably better that it would be later.

* * *

A/N: Next update will probably be a day late again, given that it's Christmas and all---though I will definitely try to get out a chapter. There was a wierd part in the last chapter I thought I should mention. Genesis says: "He is rather sweet and defenseless looking—I saw his picture—perfect for someone with such complexes as yours..." He's already met Vincent before, if you remember. So I am going to go back and remove "I saw his picture" since it just doesn't sound right. I don't know why I wrote it like that. It was late and I was planning on mentioning something later about a photo but it didn't work out. Ah well. Pretend you never read that part of the sentence! *brainwashes* O.o


	39. Advances

A/N: Some of you even reviewed on Christmas, aww :D Thanks to: kiralover44, CaseyAnn'sPrecious, OvenBased, KT, Ray of Starlight, tokidokilove, and -CNFB- ! Thanks for the correction OvenBased; that sentence was off too, wasn't it? I'll try to remember to correct it ;) This chapter is purely for character development, to sort of explain what's going on with Sephiroth and Vincent. Poor boy is confused as hell.

* * *

It was Monday afternoon as Vincent waited patiently for his tactics class to end. He was toward the back of the room, as usual, staring at the whiteboard blankly as their professor drew small circles to help his students visualize the formations in the textbook. The drawings were crude, but got the point across.

"As such, it is best if the 'heavy hitters' stay toward the back in this sort of confrontation," the balding man said, reaching for his bottle of water and taking a long drink.

Vincent sighed, knowing he should be interested. The fact that tactics was generally about groups was something that had always bothered him. Weren't the Firsts often sent on missions alone? It was definitely logical that they needed to learn about larger fighting groups, particularly when concerning war or joint missions, but he was much more eager to hear about stealth missions and solitary fighting. They had to get to it eventually, he hoped.

"Now, let's look at this with the simulator."

A machine was switched on, the light flickering for a moment over an inconspicuous black table. It was blue at first, then quickly diverged into other colors. The image was held above the table itself, flat on the bottom, but three dimensional on the surface. Small armed men hovered over the tabletop, doing a similar formation to the one on the board.

The door opening, however, easily distracted the bored students, who looked over hopefully. Instead of being a student returning from the restroom, there was someone very unexpected. Whispers immediately washed over the room, causing the professor to look up from the diagram with a hint of annoyance; students were always talking over him.

Sephiroth had closed the door, standing just inside the room. He looked no different than Vincent was used to seeing him, the long silver hair laying over his coat where it pleased, the emerald cat like eyes as blank as ever. Vincent looked directly into the man in the eyes, but the General did not pay it any heed, his own sight on the professor who suddenly looked quite flustered.

"Uh, anyway.... Sir, is there something you needed?"

"No, not at all," Sephiroth answered, nothing about his countenance changing.

The lack of coherent response seemed to make the professor nervous, his eyes darting to the General, then back to the tactics he was supposed to be teaching. He couldn't seem to decide why the man was there, so settled on ignoring him as much as he could, going back to the lesson, as it appeared to be the only viable option.

"So...we...we move this way, toward the doorway. The heavier of the crew flank..." the professor continued on, but no one listened, sneaking wayward glances at the man near the door.

Sephiroth was watching the professor, as though listening to the lesson. It did not escape him that no one was paying attention any longer, but he did not make any open acknowledgment of it. He could hear what they whispered to one another, thinking he was too far away to pick out individual voices.

Vincent himself wasn't sure why the General was there, but tried to make an effort to memorize what was being said. Even though he had little interest in what was being taught, he knew he needed to learn it----that, and the last thing he needed to start thinking about was Sephiroth.

This was the first time Vincent had seen Sephiroth since arriving back in Midgar. The man had more or less disappeared. He figured the General was probably off base, maybe on mission. It wasn't surprising, given that he had been gone. There were probably a lot of things he had to do. Vincent hoped that the man being busy was the reason there had been no private training.

Class awkwardly continued, the professor talking to students who were ignoring him, while the General stood in the corner, unmoving. It was unsettling the way he stood there, barely blinking, barely breathing.

When class finally ended, Sephiroth was the first to leave it, saying nothing, giving no explanation as to why he had shown up, or spent a half an hour in the tactics class for a group of Thirds. The teacher seemed to let out a sigh of relief when the General disappeared, beginning to stack papers while the students rushed out the door.

Vincent was one of the last to get up, still puzzled over the man's appearance. Had he just been checking over the class? Watching the professor? It was strange. He had never heard of the General going into classes to oversee them, but then again, he hadn't been in SOLDIER long either, and spent hardly any of his time on base....

There was a backup at the door, several stuck in the classroom being forced to stop and wait for the crowd to disperse. He ended up toward the back of it, wondering why everyone was behaving so oddly, some craning their necks over the people in front of them.

When Vincent made it to the door, the answer became obvious. Sephiroth was leaning against the concrete building, looking impassive as the Thirds kept throwing glances back at him as they walked away.

"Valentine," the man said lowly, knowing many of the others would not catch it.

Vincent stopped, realizing the green eyes were watching him. He was unsure of how to interpret it, but when the man straightened, moving from the wall, he realized that Sephiroth wanted to speak with him. Taking the cue for discretion, he walked forward a few steps, going slow with the pretense of looking in his messenger bag. He wasted time until the others finally walked away from the General to wherever they were supposed to be going.

When everyone appeared to be gone for the most part, Sephiroth beckoned him over with a gesture of a gloved hand.

He went over to him. "Sir?" Vincent asked, trying to not look as apprehensive as he felt. It could be good, or it could be bad. It seemed...off that Sephiroth would meet him after class.

"What is your next class?" The voice revealed nothing, spoke of no intention. The man was already aware of the boy's schedule, but found no reason to allude to it.

"I have break, sir," he said quietly.

"Good. There are a few things I need to speak to you about, Private. Go to the training room, the one you use with Angeal. I will meet you there."

"Okay, sir."

Sephiroth moved away from the building, his gait quick. He went by the boy as though he hadn't seen him.

The coat was a different one, Vincent noticed, lacking the burn mark that he had inadvertently made on the other. For some reason that made him smile, as he wondered briefly if the burned one was in the man's closet somewhere.

* * *

Vincent didn't know what to expect as he entered the training room, wondering what the man wanted to talk to him about, or if this meant they were going to have an impromptu training session.

He waited, his nerves beginning to get the best of him. He had sat down in a chair, looking about the room idly, hardly thinking about anything at all except the fact that he was going to be talking to Sephiroth, alone. That in and of itself felt strange, though it probably shouldn't have. He had, after all, talked to the General alone many times, but regardless of that fact, he never did seem to get used to it.

Vincent's posture stiffened as the man entered. The door wasn't loud, but the electronic beep and click reverberated through the spaciousness, causing a dull echo. Sephiroth was unreadable as he entered, closing the door behind him gently.

His eyes went to the boy's, noting the way he seemed to be tense all over. There were many reasons that came to mind, but he dismissed many of them, settling either on fear or nervousness. Perhaps both. Had he been someone else, he might have found it troubling, but he decided to ignore it for the most part—Vincent did have reason to feel those emotions toward him, it was only human.

"The Turks listen in on everything, likely even here," he said by way of explanation. "But none the less, this place is at least more quiet," Sephiroth mused, watching the boy with a steady gaze.

"Nothing is private here, is it?" Vincent said, though it wasn't really a question.

"Privacy is a privilege in such a place, not considered a right." He paused after that thought, eyes running over the battered blades hanging on the walls and stacked on wooden racks around the edges of the room.

"I can make it public or private, it is your choice," he stated, ceasing his uncharacteristic pacing.

The boy frowned questioningly, not quite sure what the man meant.

"The mentorship. It makes no difference to me, either way. Be warned that both come with their sets of problems. Being public with it will cause alienation, among other things, and being private about it will cause questions."

Vincent was staring down at the floor. "If it's public, won't people wonder why? I mean, you haven't mentored anyone before, have you?"

"I does not matter. The President is already aware that I will be training you," he responded.

"President Shinra knows?"

"Yes."

The boy's frown deepened. "Well, I guess it doesn't really matter if everyone knows then. I'd have to hide it otherwise."

There was a sense of pride in Vincent at that fact that Sephiroth didn't mind everyone knowing. He wasn't sure why the thought of it being public didn't bother him either, maybe because he didn't have friends anyway? People disliking him wasn't exactly new. He wasn't sure he would like having to hide things all of the time, make excuses. It wasn't like he had reason to be ashamed that Sephiroth was going to be training him privately.

It was also comforting to know that Sephiroth had considered his position too instead of making the decision by himself.

Sephiroth nodded. "But you know that you will be treated differently."

"I am already," he announced softly, shaking his head.

"There is nothing wrong with being different. I wouldn't expect you to be the most accepted."

He wasn't quite sure how to take that comment, or what exactly the man meant.

"You aren't the same Vincent. If you were I would have no interest in training you," The man added, seeing the uncertainty.

The boy smiled, something that made Sephiroth's resolve weaken slightly. The Third seemed to brighten a little, looking less introverted. It was difficult for him to relate to the boy's logic; he could scarcely remember the last time he had ever expected a compliment or even needed one. He knew that doing such small things made a difference to other people, particularly Vincent, but he still did not like handing out compliments for whatever reason.

"I will schedule the training sessions around both of our duties," Sephiroth said, drawing away from the last conversation.

His hand was in his pocket for a moment as he grabbed onto a cell phone. He offered it to Vincent, who took it with an interested expression. It was thin and deep red in color, and surprisingly, it had 'V. Valentine ' engraved on the front in a calligraphical type script that had been filled in with black laquer. It was actually quite pretty.

"It will be chaotic at times, but unfortunately it is unavoidable. I will send you the times on that," he said with a gesture of his hand to the phone Vincent held in his palm. "You will show up here, unless otherwise specified."

Vincent nodded. "If something comes up, how should I tell you?" It seemed like a dumb question, but he wasn't sure if the man even wanted him contacting him at all.

"Just send a text, or call if you must," he answered shortly, eyes drifting over Vincent.

"Okay."

Sephiroth was quiet for a moment, his stare intense enough to make Vincent want to look away in avoidance. "We can begin now, if you would like."

* * *

Training with Sephiroth was extremely different from training in class, or even with Commander Hewley or Zack.

The Commander, though quite strong, still had a gentleness to him. He constantly was aware of whether or not he was hurting Vincent, and avoided it at all costs. Sephiroth on the other hand, though he had started that way, was much more brutal about it. It seemed like each time they had trained on the beach, it had become a little less careful and slightly more dangerous.

Zack, of course, was a good teacher, but easily got distracted. He could go off on tangents at times, talking about things that had nothing to do with training. He was very relatable and easy to get along with, but there were times where they wasted more time talking than doing. The Commander was stern and focused, though still remaining personable in some ways, sort of a medium between Zack's personality and Sephiroth's.

Sephiroth was neither personable or easy to talk to. He had little else on his mind besides improving skill, or so Vincent saw it. That made him the most valuable teacher, but also the hardest to perform in front of. He was scrutinizing, evaluating every single misstep, which at times caused Vincent to lose some of his cool. But he had gotten used to it somewhat while they had been away, and learned to just try as hard as he could, even if he wasn't feeling the most up to it.

Sephiroth, he knew, would help him the most, but he was also the one that was difficult when it came to Vincent's uncertainty. He did not praise often, and when he did, it was very short and to the point, difficult for Vincent to really grasp onto, though he fought for every word. Those few meant more to him than anyone else's, because he knew they were always the most unbiased, and of course, it was coming from Sephiroth.

Vincent couldn't get himself out of the idolization he had; though he certainly had misgivings about things, he could never stave off the almost obsessive way that he thought about the man. It didn't ever seem to go away, which was frightening. He had assumed it was nothing but a stupid crush, but he was seriously beginning to wonder....

He was out of breath, almost panting as he tried to keep the long sword at bay. Sephiroth was as vicious about his strikes as ever, a small smile gracing his face as he watched Vincent fight him off particularly well.

"You have improved," Sephiroth commented, taking in the boy's flushed face, which was half concealed by black hair.

Vincent nodded, trying not to smile.

"I think that is enough for now."

Vincent gratefully allowed his hands to fall to his sides, the gauntlet-covered left curling reflexively as he stretched his cramped fingers.

"Angeal has told me that you are almost keeping up with Zack already. Is that true?" Sephiroth did not doubt his friend's words, and his secretive smile hinted to that, but he wanted to hear it from the boy directly. The Third's humbleness was something he found interesting.

Vincent's gaze faltered, but he nodded. "I try."

"Yes, you do, don't you?" The words seemed to hold underlying meaning, if the way Sephiroth was looking at him was any indication.

The room was filled with silence for a long while. The two only looked at each other, Sephiroth doing so rather appraisingly. The airconditioning had switched on, startling the boy, whose head turned in its direction.

The man walked nearer, though they weren't that far apart. Vincent's eyes widened, and he looked at the green ones with an expression of surprise and uncertainty. He wasn't sure what the General was doing, but had a few ideas, all of them unsettling. Why was Sephiroth looking at him like that?

In a familiar gesture, Sephiroth removed one of his gloves, stowing it away in a pocket. Vincent didn't back away, though he knew what was coming, or had a relative idea. He knew he should just leave, stop it from happening, but he wanted it. Maybe too much, even though he wasn't even sure what was being offered.

The fingers were heated, the touch feather-light as they drifted over his face, tucking the hair away. They toyed with a few ebony strands, Sephiroth's expression one of playfulness with that ever imminent danger underneath. Then the other hand went to his neck, still wearing the glove, which he could smell. The leather scent wasn't enough to drown out the smell of his own sweat, which had beaded across his face and spotted his uniform wetly in a few places. The bare hand seemed to like the sweat, because it smoothed it away almost reverently.

Vincent wanted to shut his eyes, but remembered how foolish it was to be in any way vulnerable to Sephiroth, no matter what the man's intentions were.

"Are you still angry?" Sephiroth whispered, his breath ghosting over the boy's face from his close proximity.

He had bent down enough that their lips were nearly touching suddenly. The way Vincent's pulse raced instantly, his pupils widening, made Sephiroth laugh lightly.

"Yes," Vincent admitted, licking his lips and nearly grazing Sephiroth's. The man was so close that errant silver bangs were dangling against his jaw.

Sephiroth made a 'hmm' noise, warm breath again tickling at Vincent's face. That bare hand was moving down his side toward his pants. He was already very much bothered, but not enough that that edge of fear didn't grip him. As the hand grasped onto his waistband, he pulled away, making a small sound in his throat.

"No."

Sephiroth's hand had not let go, fingers roving over the belt that was in the way. "Why is that?"

"Because..." Vincent protested quietly, "...you'll just walk away."

"Will I?" Sephiroth questioned, his right hand beginning to assist his left as he undid the belt.

The boy was pulling back, but not forcefully, as though he seemed indecisive.

"What makes you so certain that you can predict my actions?" The tone wasn't accusing, more amused.

Sephiroth still had that barely-there smile on his face, one that Vincent was beginning to understand had something to do with desire.

"You don't want me like that. You just...you're looking for something to use," he said bitterly, though he was still watching Sephiroth with an almost hopeful expression, not shoving the hands away as they began to unfasten the button on his pants.

"Should I use someone else, Vincent?"

The boy's innocence was making it difficult for Sephiroth to control himself, caught between taking without permission and slowly coercing. He could easily tell that Vincent wanted it, he was just afraid of being hurt, which was understandable. Unfortunately for the boy, it seemed to come with the territory; Sephiroth wanted to do it roughly, for whatever possessive reason.

"Well..." Vincent tried to come up with an argument, but the hands were distracting. They had started to pet at his stomach, the touch too light to be anything that wasn't sexual.

He needed to get away, say no, but...

"What if I promised to stay? Would that change your mind?"

The one gloved hand went up to Vincent's face, the backs of the fingers trailing over his cheek. "But it won't mean anything to you...I'll still be...just..." He hated that he couldn't talk. All of his rebukes were flying out of his head, even when everything was warning him that none of it was a good idea.

"Just?" Sephiroth prompted, observing the boy intently.

"...a body," he finished, frowning.

Sephiroth let out a long sigh, his eyes closing for a brief moment as his fingers made swirls on the boy's pale stomach. He was becoming very impatient, not at all in the mood to try and decipher what Vincent was feeling and act accordingly. The boy was not an easy one, which at times made it worth it, and others made it sexually frustrating. It was the boy's feelings that had made most of it almost impossible since the first time.

"You are not a body to me. If you were I would not try to care for you as I have. I told you my reasoning for what I did."

"I know...but it didn't feel that way, Sephiroth," he admitted quietly, his cheeks reddening slightly. "You didn't mean bad, but..."

"You don't want to trust me," Sephiroth said, completing the thought.

Vincent looked worried, but didn't say anything to disagree with the conclusion. It was true: he didn't trust Sephiroth like he had before. He couldn't bear the thought of being left again. He understood the man's reasoning for before, but that didn't mean that had been the only one....

When he was in his bed at night thinking about it, all that kept flashing through his head was how rough it had been. Physically he had enjoyed it, but mentally he saw how distant it had all been. Like being with a stranger who didn't care if it hurt or not. Sephiroth just took.

"I will respect you this time. You have my word."

Vincent's eyes avoided his. He could tell the boy was trying to decide, his brow wrinkled, jaw set tighter than usual. He put his hands through the black hair, smoothing it back.

Green eyes were darker, hidden with secrets, as Vincent finally looked up to examine them. It was a mistake, such a terrible mistake, wasn't it?

But Sephiroth was kissing him suddenly, hands still buried in his hair. He let out a sound of struggle as it deepened quickly, the man none too patient. But it was warm and inviting, and Vincent didn't want it to stop. He wanted to believe Sephiroth, even if everything told him not to.

Chaos had no opinion, strangely quiet. Vincent...felt like himself. There was no undercurrent that he could detect, just his own tumultuous emotions and thoughts, all combining together to create complete, utter confusion.

The hands seemed to decide for him, rubbing lovingly at his jaw and neck, as Sephiroth continued to kiss him.

It was wrong, all of it was so wrong. He didn't deny it this time. Not as the hands moved toward his pants again, running down his stomach. Not when the mouth never seemed to leave his, making him feel overwhelmed.

The hands didn't have to pull down his pants; he did it himself, not even sure what Sephiroth was after, though he assumed he was just going to be used again. He even managed to yank his underwear down, letting out a loud sigh when Sephiroth's warm hand wrapped around him not a moment after.

"It's not going to be bad this time, Vincent," the man reassured, his free arm embracing the boy over the shoulders and forcing him to move closer so that ther were even more face-to-face.

"Maybe not for you," Vincent said stubbornly, though the hand was already starting to feel shockingly nice and he wasn't about to leave it.

Sephiroth laughed again, this time into Vincent's hair, mussing it with his breath. "Not for me? Who said anything about me? Did you ever think that perhaps I might want to do something for you?"

Vincent only frowned into the coat, his cheek coming to rest against the patch of exposed chest, which was familiarly hot to the touch. Why would Sephiroth want to do anything for him? He didn't care, did he? That was only conclusion Vincent could make after everything he had seen so far of the man. He cared in some ways, but not in others. Vincent had just started to accept that.

"Wizened to the ways of the world, have you?"

"Why would you do anything for me?" Vincent said suddenly, looking up.

The blatant innocence and hopefulness in the maroon eyes was enough to make Sephiroth smile almost cruelly.

"Maybe I do care. Would that be so unbelievable?" Sephiroth questioned, stroking Vincent a little harder, while his other hand pulled at black hair, halfway between being gentle and being demanding.

Vincent was trying to answer, but he moaned a little instead, biting his lip as he attempted to respond. "But...you...."

"I dealt with you the wrong way the first time, Vincent. I can see there is no purpose in trying to have you in only one way; it seems to be all or nothing with you. You are going to get hurt regardless of how I treat you."

"Not if you are nice," Vincent said quietly, hating how stupid it sounded. He knew it was a childish thing to say.

"Even if I am 'nice' it will not be enough for you. But you don't see that yet, do you?" Sephiroth was staring down at him calculatingly, silver hair hanging in Vincent's face. "You want love. I do not have it."

Vincent's eyes closed for a moment as the thought about, it, his breathing heavier than it had been during training. He was pushing against Sephiroth wherever they were touching, all the while trying to hold onto all of his confused, disorganized thoughts, and stifling groans each time he tried to talk.

Was it true? Would the man being 'nice' not be enough? Was that why the distance had hurt so damn much? He didn't want to believe that, yet he knew Sephiroth always seemed to evaluate him better than he himself was capable.

"It would be enough," Vincent protested anyway, not able to hold the green eyes anymore.

He wouldn't believe it. He didn't love the man; that was impossible, wasn't it? He hadn't even known him that long. He would have just been happy if Sephiroth hadn't been so cold toward him when he most needed a little bit of understanding. He would have been fine. Not hurt.

Vincent's stubbornness was alluring to Sephiroth, who smiled into the black hair, his hand taking a tighter grip, as he moved lower to kiss the boy's neck.

"If you think so," he replied agreeably, though his look turned dark.

Naive to a fault.

* * *

A/N: I admit that I was seriously considering deleting this story. I've been having that "I absolutely hate it" reaction to this whole thing, and there have been a few times I wanted nothing more than to erase it from existence. Crazy, especially after I have spent so much of my time on it. But I will continue on, even if the updates are a little slower. So just be prepared for slowness, though I will do my best. :) I'm just very uninspired lately, and compacted with the holidays and being busy, it is bad timing. My apologies.


	40. Greed

**A/N:** You know, it's practically impossible for me to stop writing when I have such nice people to encourage me to continue :D It really means a lot. Thanks to: kiralover44, NicotineGum, CaseyAnn'sPrecious, Ray of Starlight, KT, whatevergirl, Strange and Intoxicating -rsa-, tokidokilove, Risikaa, eclipse ze lunachic, Identity Crysis (Merciful Shiva? XD), and RedHerring1412!

* * *

Sephiroth knew Vincent did not see his own vulnerability, even after what had happened. The boy was warier, but not much more cynical, at least not as much as he should have been.

It was the same struggle in Sephiroth, the one he had faced before, his own intentions muddled, unclear, even to himself. He was manipulating, as he always did, but he did not know how it would end this occasion.

Vincent was merely leaning against him, face moving over his jacket almost in discomfort as hands continued their ministrations. The little moans were enough for Sephiroth to know that what he was doing was obviously having the desired effect. That was why the groan the came from the boy when he abruptly removed his hands was so much sweeter.

Maroon eyes stared up at him, confused. Sephiroth pushed the boy back a few paces, his smile enigmatic.

"What are you doing?" Vincent asked breathlessly, his expression suddenly troubled behind the layer of silky black hair.

He was worried suddenly, his fears coming back to haunt him at the most inconvenient of times. What if it was just a game again? He couldn't help but think that during the brief seconds in which he could only watch Sephiroth, unsure of what was happening, or why. What if Sephiroth was just going to use him again? Why couldn't he just stop being so cruel?

The man didn't answer with words, instead slowly lowering himself onto the mat they were standing on. At first Vincent thought he was going to ask him to lay down or something, but the General said nothing, only adjusting his position on his knees until he was comfortable. When he gestured for the boy to come forward with a gloved finger, Vincent suddenly looked panicked. His face reddened considerably, and he averted his gaze for the most part, looking anywhere but at Sephiroth.

The man was smiling in a way that made him want to hesitate. But what was being offered...it was the last thing he had ever expected.

He took only a step forward, looking anxious. His still had his uniform shirt on, but his lower body was completely exposed. Though he probably wasn't as embarrassed as he should have been, the implications of Sephiroth on his knees was enough to make his hands tremor and breathing quicken even more. He knew what was going to happen, but he kept doubting it, wondering when the tables were going to turn on him as they always seemed so inclined....

The other glove came off without ceremony, discarded on the mat. The strong hands went for Vincent's hips, one on either side, encouraging him to come even closer. Vincent stumbled forward, the man having pulled more harshly than he probably should have.

"I—" Vincent wasn't sure what to say, looking as confused as ever, but clearly trying to overcome it, as he placed a hand on one of the cool silver pauldrons that covered Sephiroth's shoulders.

One of the hands went back to caressing him, which made Vincent stop attempting to talk. When the man's face moved toward his hips, he couldn't help but tense somewhat, wanting it, but still feeling very vulnerable. It was yet another situation he was far from familiar with.

It wasn't as though he hadn't thought about it, but for some reason he had assumed that Sephiroth would never actually.... Even thinking it made his face tinge a further shade of crimson, as soft lips unexpectedly began to kiss at his thighs.

He didn't try to get away, not even nervousness enough to convince him that he didn't want it. Sephiroth was moving slowly over a very sensitive area, while one of his hands dug into Vincent's left thigh, and the other slid back and forth over his erection.

The boy was suddenly holding onto Sephiroth's shoulders with a lot more force, the pauldrons pushing down onto the leather. It made him smile as he continued to kiss at soft skin almost impatiently, always catching the skin between his teeth to make the boy shiver almost imperceptibly.

He knew he wasn't going to take what he wanted, not this time. He was walking a thin line with Vincent, and he knew he would be forced to wait. This was, in a sense, an effort to regain the boy's lost trust in him, reassert the infatuation that Vincent was so terrible at hiding. He had made a mistake trying to toughen the Third. He had misjudged just how much Vincent had wanted it to happen, just how much the boy needed to be cared for. Or perhaps, given the turn of events, it had been a somewhat desirable outcome. It was a matter of perspective.

Vincent wasn't weak, in fact he was much stabler than the majority of the Thirds and even Seconds, he simply had more emotions to overcome than most. And then there was that precious innocence.... Still there, still shaking fearfully beneath the surface, but too honest to deny itself what it needed. The boy was nothing more than an innocent spring lamb that would walk directly into the slaughterhouse regardless of his compatriots' screams, so long as his master was on the other side of the fence beckoning him. That was how lost Vincent was, he could see it. It was painful to look at, but it granted him a control over the boy that was too good to ignore.

Sephiroth didn't exactly mind waiting; watching Vincent's expressions was both satisfying and maddening.

It was with no warning, that he let his kisses travel a little farther, slowly starting at the base of Vincent's cock and with intention, going toward the head. His hand was curled around the base, fingers stroking against pale skin.

Vincent shuddered, his eyes seemingly incapable of looking away from what Sephiroth was doing so calmly, while he himself was doing everything he could to keep himself from shaking simply at the thought of what was happening. He hated how Sephiroth could make him come undone, just break down every inhibition so that he was pliable, complacent, _willing_....

It was not at all unwelcome when Sephiroth began paying particular attention to the wet tip, his lips opening slightly so that there was a hint of his tongue. Vincent hated the teasing, moaning insistently, as he let his hands fall into the silver locks of hair that kept brushing against his bare legs.

Sephiroth wasn't all that patient either, and instead of continuing the pleasurable torture, he gave the boy what he obviously needed. He didn't hesitate to allow Vincent full access to his mouth.

The boy didn't have to tell him that he loved it; the hands that grabbed at his long hair roughly and the loud sound of helplessness spoke volumes.

There was something about the position that had never struck Sephiroth as being one of submission. If anything it was giving instead of receiving that he tended to interpret as the so called 'dominate' gesture, though really either could be with the proper imagination. If he wanted, he could have laid Vincent on the floor and held his hips down as he did it, but then the boy would have been truly helpless. As beautiful as it sounded, it was yet another way to deepen the fissure of distrust, to make Vincent avoid him.

The truth was, being forceful that specific way with the boy would have reminded him too much of how it had often been done to him. Perhaps it was for those reasons that he found himself being lenient with Vincent where he was not with others. Their relationship as mentor and student was too reminiscent of all the things he so easily pushed aside.

Jade—that last name had always made him want to think 'jaded'. It was exactly the word to describe both what the man had been, and what he had managed to make Sephiroth. Perhaps it was only fitting....

Sephiroth forced the thoughts somewhere else, letting his hands find purchase on soft skin with hardened muscles beneath. He had been with his barriers too long to allow such things past, and like a filter, it shut away what he did not want to feel.

Though it had not been all that long since he had seen the boy without clothing, he noticed that Vincent had definitely put on weight, looking a lot less wraithlike, though it seemed he would always be unnaturally thin. Puberty hadn't really set in like it should have, but the long limbs suggested the Third would get a lot taller with time.

He kept taking Vincent into his mouth then pulling back, always caressing none to subtly with his tongue. He loved how the boy was falling to pieces in sweet gasps of surprise and brave thrusts of his hips, still shy, but becoming more sure of himself in a very small space of time.

* * *

"It's not effective, is that clear to you yet?" Genesis said angrily, slamming a red gloved fist onto one of the lab tables. His expression was of pure fury, set in deep lines that twisted his normally handsome face.

"No need to lose your temper," Hollander answered, looking vaguely amused. "I said that it might not work out as we hoped. We need to up the dosage, that's all."

"Up the dosage?" Genesis said incredulously, his look turning to a burning, dark hatred. He moved away from the table in an almost predatory manner, his hand gliding along the cold, metallic surface. His voice was quiet, almost a whisper, and tainted with withheld threats as his piercing stare did not once leave the scientist's face. "You and I both know I have been injected with enough to kill me, so why is it that I only continue to weaken? You must find another way, Hollander. I can't wait forever. I refuse to play second best any longer. Hojo made it work for Sephiroth; you yourself have been witness to what he is capable of—do that for me. Make me a rival to that power."

Genesis was raging internally, his emotions so riled, it was difficult to think straight, let alone get a handle on the situation.

It wasn't working. The mako wasn't working. It had, at first, but the results had suddenly reached some sort of plateau that he couldn't seem to get away from. The worst part of it, was Hollander had been less than concerned recently, ever since the tests....

He wasn't stupid. He knew Hollander was either focusing on something else, or had lost interest in his cause. It wasn't exactly uncommon for scientists to grow bored with their projects. For some reason though, Genesis suspected that Hollander knew something he didn't. He wanted truths, he wanted to find a way to pry them from Hollander without having to sacrifice their current arrangement. But how? The results of the tests, those were what he needed, but he did not have the clearance to access them, and was unsure if Hollander had even recorded them. The scientist had unfortunately become rather paranoid after his notes started disappearing....

Learning about Sephiroth was easy; Lazard allowed for that, though not exactly with his knowledge. But the Director only knew so much, was only permitted so much knowledge. The labs were another thing. Turks had little influence there. Even Shinra's influence was limited, though it funded the research. It would be hard to get the information he needed, if it did in fact exist in documented form.

Hojo was dead. That was enough for Genesis to know that Sephiroth had to be getting his injections elsewhere, or was doing them himself. There seemed to be no reason for the man to go off of his treatments; Sephiroth was arrogant, too much so to let such things fall to the wayside when he had to maintain the heroic image that was plastered across alleyways and bedroom walls as a constant reminder. No, Sephiroth would not stop getting his treatments....

Genesis planned to discover just what his 'friend' was taking. Hollander was not an uninventive scientist, though he was more cautious than Hojo had been. That was what made him weak, that was what made him lose his title as Director of the Science Division to Hojo for a time; he was not half so insanely inclined. If Hollander could not discover the proper treatment, Genesis would do so himself. He needed to find out just what made Sephiroth so different from him, and he would go to any extent to find out.

Genesis whispered to himself, his gloved fingers grasping onto the book hidden in the inner pocket of his coat. "_Dreams of the morrow hath the shattered soul/Pride is lost/Wings stripped away...the end is nigh._"

* * *

It was late when Vincent got back to his room. He hadn't stopped thinking about Sephiroth, not even for the briefest instant.

He tried to be as quiet as he could getting through the doorway, alert to the sounds of sleep coming from all sides.

Though he was sectioned off with other boys, their room was connected to the hallway which led to other parts of the dorm where the rest of his squad was located. There were three rooms adjacent to theirs, each with several boys bunked in them. It became noisy, particularly at night before bed, but thankfully each room had a door, which at least helped. He didn't have the most animated of bunkmates, at least not compared to some others, for which he was grateful. They left him alone for the most part, not being rude, but not being all that friendly either. He preferred it that way.

They were all sleeping as he crawled into the narrow bed, discarding his boots as soundlessly as he was able. He didn't bother to take his clothes off, knowing he didn't want to feel the scratchy sheets all over him. He could smell Sephiroth, as though the man had permeated every bit of clothing, every strand of hair. He knew that the scent would be left on his sheets.

He pushed his face into his pillow, shutting his eyes with a pleasant feeling of elation; he knew he was going to have trouble sleeping, but not because of nightmares.

Why did Sephiroth have to be so complicated? He had spent so much time with the man, yet he still only had the vaguest hint of what went on inside that head. He was caught between wanting to hate him, being angry, then the stupid feelings of neediness toward him. Admittedly, what had gone on in the training room had definitely changed his perspective.

Sephiroth had not been selfish in the least, nothing suggested that he was doing it only for himself. In fact, the man had demanded nothing, only slowly pushing him to the edge.... Vincent could feel his face heat, and he whimpered very quietly into his pillow in embarrassment, hands fisting at the sheets that were sloppily strewn over him.

There had been no pleasure in what they had done for Sephiroth, it had been just for Vincent. It was the last things he had ever expected of the General. Though he certainly did not think the man evil, the more he had obsessed over what had happened while they were away...the more he saw the twisted aspects of it.

That wasn't all though. Sephiroth's surprising confession from before had plagued him as well; he had lost a lot of the anger because of it, redirecting it. He couldn't help but want to reach out to him, even if the man didn't want it. It made him angry that someone had hurt Sephiroth so much, damaged him so deeply. He kept wondering what the man would have been if he had led a normal life. But then...he wouldn't be Sephiroth, would he?

Vincent sighed, feeling confused, but distinctly satisfied as he thought back to the training room. So was that what it felt like to have someone care?

They had talked a long time, though very little had really been said. The long silences hadn't been uncomfortable, but somehow very much a part of Sephiroth. More was said through looks than words. It had been...strangely perfect. He knew it was stupid to be satisfied by so little, but he couldn't help it. Sephiroth had done exactly as he said: he made it better. There was no coldness, no walking away as though nothing of importance had passed.

But yet...there was a secret part of him that felt like there _was_ something missing. That the satisfaction was momentarily blocking out something of great importance, something he had yet to see....

Vincent frowned. Chaos squirmed somewhere in his stomach, an unpleasant sensation that made him flinch. He took a tighter grip on the blankets, thinking about better things, about Sephiroth's quiet voice echoing in the room, the green eyes secretive, yet opened somehow, barriers halfway down. But Chaos's dark thoughts reverberated though the entirety of his body, polluting the pleasurable thoughts he kept trying to surface.

Instead of feelings, its thoughts were clearer, understandable, like they had been once at the beach house when he had been watching Sephiroth. But they were not spoken, not in words, but heavily refined feelings that somehow made sense to him, somehow translated....

_Corrupt....Kill. Corrupt. Suffer. Suffering...._

Though it thought almost nothing, it was enough to make Vincent tense under the blankets. It was so dark, so wrong.... He could feel the all-consuming hate spreading over his limbs, cold, like a fearful sweat that made him have the urge to vomit.

It felt like something was squeezing at his chest, putting pressure down onto his sternum. Crushing him. He let out a strangled breath, his eyes filling with worry.

What was happening? Why was Chaos acting this way?

Then there was a voice, one that sounded distinctly like his own, the one when he was Chaos. It broke through his thoughts easily, incapable of being ignored, drowned out, though it was barely a raspy whisper:

_Kill the silver haired one. Kill him and lick the blade clean... Stab till the crunch. Crunch, crunch. Wet and sticky, red and gooey. Let it all bleed out...red eyes red puddle...red eyes red puddle.... Black hair. Bring him to the lifestream...bring them all to the lifestream.... The silver one first..... Pick the corpse clean...purge them all...suffer the little children unto me...suffer the dark one unto me...._

Vincent's hands went over his head, even though he knew the voice didn't come from anywhere but inside of him. He could feel the dread washing over him at the loss of control as the voice grew steadily louder, more vicious, feeling like a siren going off.

_The trees, the water, the life...bring it to me. Give it to me.... Give me what I need **Vincent Valentine**...._

It was at his name that he pulled at his own hair, the sound so loud his head had begun to pound, the veins on his temples standing out painfully. He tired to bury his head in the blankets, in the pillow, but it echoed, his name spoken by that voice. But hadn't thought it had he? No, it was Chaos, Chaos was thinking it.... But it was his voice? Why?

Like a transformation, it stopped without warning, so abrupt that Vincent was left gasping. His knuckles were white against the fabric, his pale face blanched further. He felt as though he had just done something extremely strenuous, his chest rising and falling in rapid succession as he tried to gain he bearings, tried to relax his rigid body only seconds after that mental torture.

What was happening to him?

* * *

A/N: Again, I am sorry for the slow updates. I will do my best. I'm really going to try to finish this story, even with my own personal feelings regarding it. I know how it is to read something you like, then for it suddenly to stop. *shakes head* See you next chapter :) Sorry for the crappy edit. It's five in the morning, time for rest.


	41. Do Unto Others

A/N: Thanks to: RedHerring1412, NicotineGum, kiralover44, Ray of Starlight, tokidokilove, Marezules, KT, whatevergirl, and OvenBased! Damn I am sleepy...anyway. Know that I am trying to keep going because I love all of you :) I would be a million chapters back there if I didn't have such great encouragement, and this would probably be abandoned. So really, it means a lot. Thanks :D

Crappy edit, sorry, but it's because it's a longer chapter than usual. There is a flashback at the end there, in case anyone gets confused.

* * *

Zack's eyes were wide as he stared down into the partially-lit abyss below. The tube was lined at the top with thick metal sheets, which had lights built into them. It then became jagged rocks a shorts ways down, the whole thing seemingly going on forever, the lights losing their reach at such depths. Its blackness started out inky then descended into a true, unadulterated black that was more than a little foreboding. Something about it was otherworldly.

He was leaning over the metal guard rail, brown gloves holding onto it for reassurance. His black hair was falling in his face, though the errant strands that always stuck up seemed unaffected.

"Don't do that," Angeal ordered, looking distinctly worried, his eyes flicking to Zack then to what he could see of the cavern beneath them.

Zack got into trouble so often, he had to constantly keep an eye on him. It made missions much more tense than he would have liked. That was one of the reasons, though he hated to admit to it, that he did not often grant the teen permission to accompany him on mission. He ended up doing a less thorough job because he was too busy focusing on keeping Zack safe. It was something he needed to get over, which was precisely why he had brought the Second with him.

"How far down does that go?" Zack asked, craning his neck as though it would give him a better view.

"We don't have time to stare at the scenery, Zack."

"Right," he said more seriously, pulling away from the railing, though his intense blue eyes had yet to leave the tube.

There was a dampness to the air, one that was earthy and cool, to the point that Zack's bare arms had gotten chilled from being so close to where it originated.

"Remind me why we're here again?" the Second questioned, scratching at his black hair almost reflexively.

Angeal hadn't told him anything, just that they were going on mission. He had asked a few times, but his mentor's answers had been short and hadn't really revealed much. He didn't like information being withheld from him, but he figured the man must have had a reason.

"We're checking on the reactor," the Commander replied, seemingly unconcerned that it was an answer that was virtually equivalent to stating 'the sky is blue'.

"Yes, but why?" he asked in exasperation, shaking his head at his mentor's lack of response.

"You don't need to know why, Zack, just get it done," Angeal said, sounding irritable, though that was not in fact the case.

"You're always saying I should ask though, right? Isn't that part of honor, making sure you're doing the right thing?"

Angeal couldn't help but smile, letting out a sigh. "Yes, you should always ask," he said, relenting.

They were moving out into a corridor leading away from the inner part of the reactor, the rooms turning stuffy and stinking of oil and mechanics. The floors were made of metal grates that allowed them to see the next floor down, a tactical advantage, but also a disadvantage, given that anyone could shoot at them from below.

Everywhere one turned were machines, some filled with mako, others with unknown substances that looked brown and mucky, almost sewage like. The smell was becoming steadily unpleasant, making Zack sniff then frown somewhat disgustedly.

"We're here to see why it shut off for two hours," Angeal explained quietly, low enough that if anyone were present they likely wouldn't catch the words or even hear them over the whir of machinery.

"Did someone do it?"

"I don't know," the Commander responded, voice gone even more quiet.

He was getting a sinking feeling, his senses suddenly in overdrive as he tried to hear things over the pump of the pistons beside them.

They were entering a narrow room, not far from where the blueprints showed the controls being. Either side was lined with tanks full of swirling green mako that eventually stopped when they reached a huge, automated stainless steel door. There was little light except one bulb that had been switched on along with the sparse others in the building when they had entered it.

Angeal hadn't been informed beforehand that the place was automated; if anyone was still present in the building, it was likely that they knew that they were no longer alone. The Commander hadn't expected trouble, but his instincts were beginning to tell him different. It was supposed to be a boring check-up sort of mission, probably just some computer error that had been fixed by the system, but he was starting to wonder. His gut feelings were rarely wrong.

"Stay close," he whispered to his student, eyeing the doorway behind them as they advanced.

Zack nodded, taking on a more serious expression as he felt the man beside him tense with apprehension. If Angeal was concerned, he knew to be prepared.

The door unlocked when the man pressed in the proper combination, the metallic click making the Second hold his breath in both nervousness and excitement. He could barely remember the last time they had been on mission besides the stint in Wutai.

Angeal went first, his steps light, surprisingly quiet given his size. At first, all appeared normal, the control room well lit at the center panel, while the rest of the room was passed over in grey shadow that was easy on sensitive eyes.

Zack looked puzzled, but did not let his guard down as he followed his mentor further in. The Commander was looking alert, his eyes moving from one end of the room to the other in rapid succession.

Something was wrong.

"Looking for something?" a voice enquired.

It came from the two speakers placed in the corners of the room, a man from the sound of it, the tone sardonic.

Zack went rigid at the sudden noise, while his mentor looked up at one of the speakers, his fists tightening in response. Someone was there.

"What, cat got your tongue, friend?" the nameless man quipped, sounding as though he was smiling.

"Who are you?" Angeal said, his eyes moving around the room, suspicious.

"Just the neighborhood lunatic. I rewired the system; so glad you showed. It gets awful lonely out here all by myself."

"Why?" the Commander questioned, looking less than entertained. Zack was watching him, having enough tact to know that now was not the time to say something.

"Oh, you know. Us people don't like to have to chatter on and on to oursel---"

"No. Why did you rewire the system?" Angeal demanded, the feeling in his stomach getting progressively more knotted.

"I told you, I was lonely." The speaker was cracking in and out as if from bad reception, as Zack gave his mentor a confused look. "It'll be alright now, though; friends are coming. Many, many friends."

"Friends?" Zack asked, glancing up at one of the speakers.

"Oh yes. Lovely, bloodthirsty friends with SUCH pretty smiles. You'll like them, you will."

Angeal had become more intent in his watchfulness, edging to the door and motioning for the Second to do the same.

"Don't try that now. Couldn't have you running away, now could I. No, no, no...that just wouldn't do."

When Angeal tried the door, the passcode did nothing, the door beeping negatively. Zack looked worried suddenly, but his mentor placed a hand on his shoulder for a brief moment before giving a nod to his student's sword. Zack withdrew it as they stood by the door, the Commander removing something from a pocket. He fiddled with the small device for a few seconds before placing it on the keypad, where he left it.

So whoever it was knew what they were doing, where they were moving.... Unfortunate. Quite a disadvantage. They also had re-coded the door in a short amount of time and gotten into the facility in the first place. Though it wasn't incredibly difficult, it took a lot of work when it came to outsiders who weren't familiar with the systems and couldn't easily override them. Then again, he did not know if it _was_ an outsider. SOLDIER had a lot of desertion; it was a hard program to survive in.

"What do you want with us?" Angeal questioned, tone hard, even.

"The question isn't what I want with you, but what I want with SOLDIER, with Shinra.... Such a pity you all are so intent on taking down the Planet without a backward glance, but we will stop you, we will stand against the rampant corruption and emerge victorious..."

Zack made a circular motion with his finger near his temple, eyebrows raised. Angeal wasn't about to dispute the claim; it sounded like AVALANCHE.

"Here they come. Enjoy, friends."

The voice cracked away, leaving the room silent except for the vague sounds of the machinery in the next room and the bubbling of mako.

The door clicked open after the device gave three long beeps. Zack went for the it, but Angeal stopped him from leaving just yet.

"Hold it open for a moment," he ordered, indicating the heavy metal door.

Zack did as he was told, his mentor walking over toward the control panel and snatching up a dusty clipboard. They wedged it in to door so that it wouldn't be able to close on them.

Though the breaker (it was a device originally intended for Turks, but he had managed to get one of his own) had worked through the code once, it didn't work through everything. He wasn't sure just how much control the enemy had over the building, so he was unwilling to take any unnecessary risks. It was best to be over prepared.

"Stay here, be vigilant," Angeal said curtly, going back to the controls and leaving the Second to guard the door.

He would have preferred it to be the other way around, but unfortunately few of the new generation of SOLDIERs had any experience with the technological aspects of the job; it wasn't something that was really trained for, not like it should have been.

He looked over the various unlabeled nobs and switches, letting out a strained sigh. Many of the reactors were not well-maintained, often with poor security and poorer facilities. Though they were the source of Shinra's power both literally and figuratively, as long as they were running they were paid little attention to for whatever reasons, likely because it would cost too much to keep a crew on hand or try to generalize the systems so that they were easier to maintain as a whole.

They reactors weren't guarded either, mostly due to the shortages in guards. Sending SOLDIER for something so mundane was also out of the question, given that they were barely getting through missions as it was. The only reason they had been sent on this particular one, was because Angeal had personally requested it. He had thought it would be a good opportunity to give Zack something to do, and the circumstances for the cease in operation had been somewhat questionable in the first place.

Whether the man had been bluffing or not, Angeal needed to hurry. He had turned on the main computer, trying to find the security settings to check for unwelcome guests (if the facility was even capable), as well as to see if some of the other doors had been shut closed as well, like he suspected. He was also aware that whoever was pulling the tricks might make it impossible for him to get at the information he needed, which could complicate matters.

"Uh, Angeal?" Zack said, his body in a defensive stance. "We've got a problem."

"What is it?" Angeal asked hurriedly, looking over the schematics of the building with a quick, but critical eye.

"Monsters," Zack said plainly, eyes darting to Angeal. He was not frightened, but actually glad there was something interesting for once. Monsters were always interesting.

Angeal abandoned the console, moving to where Zack was rather quickly. "How many?"

"See for yourself."

The Second gestured to the inch-wide opening between the door and the frame. Angeal turned his head to the side and looked through the small crack. Several dog-like beasts had started to gather in the long, adjacent room, at least ten of them in all. Someone had obviously let them in. Their 'friend' on the loudspeaker, most likely, unless he had accomplices.

"They can't be left inside the building," Angeal stated, looking to his student. "We'll need to get rid of them. They look easy to kill."

The Commander had withdrawn his smaller broadsword, leaving the Buster Sword in its rightful place on his back.

"Let's go then!" Zack answered excitedly, grinning.

Angeal could only shake his head at the Second's enthusiasm, something that never stopped catching him off guard. Enthusiasm and positivity were not often something associated with a strict group like SOLDIER.

They moved into the next room, careful to leave the clipboard in place so that there would be no more surprises.

The monsters were watching them with keen interest, a few of the braver ones venturing several steps closer as the men entered the room.

Their snouts were thin, almost like a coyote, while long, curling tongues fell from their open, gaping jaws. Their fur had a purplish tinge to it, one that was similar to Kalm Fangs, which were wolfish monsters that were generally of little threat. But something was...different. The tongues were new, as were the bizarre hind legs, which seemed too long for their bodies. The eyes were strange too, red and glowing unnaturally. Red bristles went over their backs like ridges, somewhat similar to the spines of a porcupine, blending in with the light purple fur.

Some of them growled, baring evil-looking yellowed fangs even further. They did appear to be almost smiling, though it was certainly a twisted sort of smile.

"Be cautious, Zack. These don't look normal."

The Second nodded, tensing in anticipation as one of them came particularly close. It snapped at him, drool sliding down its jowls and puddling on the floor were it fell through the grate. Angeal, though Zack didn't have the time to notice, was equally as occupied.

The beast lunged unexpectedly, using those back legs move with swiftness. Zack had been ready though, and caught it in the side of the head, with a loud bang of metal to bone. The wolf-like animal fell, the blade having pierced its skull quite deeply.

As if working in cohesion, the beasts all attacked at once, the majority going for Angeal, while the rest moved toward Zack.

Angeal fought the first off with a practiced motion of his unoccupied left arm, flinging it as though it were weightless. It landed several feet away with a loud thump and a strange, screechy yelp. He moved onto the others with the blade, slashing through several at once.

One of the monsters stood to the side, wearing almost a sneer. The Commander saw it, not keeping it out of mind, but nonetheless focusing on those closest to him.

Zack had a little more difficulty, but not much. He had a lot of brute force, but not as much as his mentor. Even so, his skill helped him dispatch each of his enemies. As the last one moved in, he struck it in the chest with a well-placed hit of his blade, sending it yowling and staggering. He finished it with a deep thrust of metal through its side, the beast twitching as blood pumped from the newly-formed opening.

The one that had been avoiding the fighting took the opportunity to move toward Zack, giving off a rumbling growl of warning. Zack swung at it, but frowned when the creature caught the blade between its teeth. There was a wet scraping sound as he yanked the sword free, the wolfish monster surprisingly unharmed except for a trickle of blood that had dripped from the corner of its mouth. There was a little trail of crimson on Zack's sword as well, but he ignored it, too distracted by the teeth he had pulled it from. They were made of metal.

A snarl and it moved in again, Zack waiting for it to make its move. It wasn't the same as the others; it seemed to calculate, its head swaying, body feinting intelligently.

Angeal was nearing them now, having finished off his own enemies. His eyes went from Zack to the monster. It noticed him, ears moving flat against its skull, eyes narrowing. The Commander forcefully slashed his blade at it, but it dodged to the side with preternatural speed. Zack didn't hide his surprise that the animal could move so fast, Angeal however, seemed unperturbed.

It backed away from its two attackers as they approached, letting out a wet rumble as it retreated to the other end of the hall, sidestepping, red, malevolent eyes never leaving the SOLDIERs. Zack rushed forward, but the creature avoided him entirely, darting underneath the wielded blade with a frightening quickness.

The animal let out one last hateful growl as it moved toward the tanks, scrambling out of the way of Angeal's sword. But it wasn't quick enough, and was hit partially by the sharp sword, leaving a long gash over its slender, spine-covered back.

It cried out in pain, but the sound was more angry than helpless. It was a dark being, however, too determined to let a single wound be its downfall. It determinedly went the last few steps toward the almost invisible opening in the wall, moving as fast as its injured body was able. It was through the jagged opening before either SOLDIER got to it.

Zack let out an angry sigh when the creature disappeared, bending down a little to look at the hole in the wall, though not going at all close to it. It was in a shadow, nearly hidden between the tanks. He had never even noticed it before.

The Second then looked over at his mentor, confused. "You think that was how they got in?"

"Probably."

"Should we try to find it?"

Angeal was thinking, his mind quickly drawing several conclusions. "We'll look around, but chances are it will die from that wound anyway."

Zack nodded, appearing disappointed that it had gotten away. "Was it just me, or did it seem a little...human to you?"

Angeal's expression was brooding as he took a moment to answer. "Something wasn't quite right about it. But we don't have time for that. We need to do a sweep, then get our job done."

The creature only listened intently from its place between the walls, the voices echoing around it. The space was tight, compressing on its pained, narrow frame, but it paid little attention to such things. It only wrinkled its nose and moved over the crunchy little corpses of stowaway rodents, metallic teeth gleaming in the near darkness.

Humans. So predictable.

* * *

_**"Again," the man ordered, clearing his throat.**_

_**He was looking down a sheet full of observation notes, not even reading them, though the pretense was enough to fool almost anyone. He was watching his student with concealed glances, eyes skimming over anything that was well done and targeting every minuscule weakness. He kept a long mental note of each one, not just for improvement, but those that he would keep private, those he would use for later.**_

_**"You fight like a coward, Sephiroth," he said evenly, not bothering to take his gaze from the papers.**_

_**He appeared to be in his thirties, bulkier in build, though he was not at all stout. Very light blonde hair, straight and lank, with hints of sunlight too it that were almost white in color. It was brittle in texture, a side effect of things he preferred to keep to himself. His eyes were cold, like an arctic wolf, but beautiful, a strange contrast to carved, masculine features that spoke more of hardness than anything frivolous or poetic.**_

_**He always dressed impeccably, everything clearly tailored to his form, his hair kept short and neat to match. The suit was never torn, not even when Sephiroth himself fought until he bled. It seemed to always stay perfect, something the silver-haired boy never really understood.**_

_**He was a dark man, that was certain. Sephiroth knew next to nothing of him, only drawing conclusions from short interactions and constant abuse. Strangely enough, he learned more from the unspoken than anything else, as talking was nearly always short, biting criticism or observation.**_

_**The man—Jade—he usually called him (though it was not his first name), was, upon all appearances, unbreakable. There was no weakness, no fault to be picked at and torn open, not on the outside at least. The man wasn't mako enhanced, that was what Sephiroth could not understand. How could anyone normal move so quickly, hit so brutally? He did not know what the man's past was, only that it involved a lot of murder done in unspeakable ways, if the man's suggestions about such things were in fact true. For some reason, though he was always skeptical, he knew that killing was one thing Jade did not seem the type to lie about.**_

_**He got along with Hojo; there must have been something Sephiroth was missing. Hojo was a monster, that much he knew. Jade was too, he had discovered. Monsters always congregated together from what he could tell, though Gast might have been the exception. One thing he knew for certain, he couldn't kill Jade, not even close. He was no match, not yet.**_

_**Sephiroth had long grown out of his infatuation, becoming bitter and hateful from the moment the man had laid a hand on him, though that certainly hadn't stopped him from doing as he was told. He wanted someone to stay with him, even if it had to be Jade, even if it all had to be more like a nightmare than anything. But what about life was good? Life was pain, as Jade said. 'Pain and nothing but, so start liking it', he had once advised. It was surprising that he often found Jade's views were generally correct. Monsters must have had better perspective.**_

_**Sephiroth kept attacking the bot, not replying to yet another cruel criticism. It would only lead to more anger, more pain later...why argue? If he wasn't doing as good as Jade wanted, then he wasn't doing good enough to beat him. That was all Sephiroth needed to know.**_

_**"Stop retreating," the man said bitingly, letting out a sigh of irritation. "How can I train you if you can't fight an object without flinching in your advances?"**_

_**Training was one of the few times Sephiroth had an idea of what Jade was thinking; the rest of the time there was nothing but a blank face with a monotonous voice. There were two sides to Jade: the angry, malicious side, and the other darker, quiet side. Neither bode well for him, not ever.**_

_**Sephiroth was covered in sweat, trying to hide his ragged breathing. The flimsy white lab clothes were sticking to his skin like a second, attached layer, hot, stifling even. The lab lights were glaring down on his head, hurting his sensitive eyes so much he had to squint to see.**_

_**It wasn't just sweat that was on his clothes, but streaks of blood from where Jade had slashed at him when he didn't move quick enough. Each time the bot got a 'hit' in (the hits didn't actually hurt; there was just a beep of warning), Jade made sure there was a real one as a reminder. His back ached, and the gashes were pulled open even more as he struggled to keep pace with the inhuman training machine, which was going so fast that it was almost a blur.**_

_**"That's enough," Jade stated, waving a hand at the bot, which suddenly went still.**_

_**Jade's tanned skin was the only suggestion that the man did in fact belong from the outside world. Sephiroth didn't go outside, but at times he could smell the grass on Jade's boots, or the scent of dirt from the winds that must have ruffled the man's hair before he came to the lab.**_

_**Jade showed up almost every day, though he did not appear some occasions. He always looked exactly the same, never a different part to his hair, or a different style of suit or tie. The jacket and slacks were always grey with white pinstripes, then a black tie with a black shirt beneath. He always wore a belt as well, and tall knee-high ebony boots that should have looked out of place. He kept his pants tucked into them, but somehow managed to keep the material from being wrinkled. It was a mix of a soldier and a businessman. Or perhaps it was just the look of a mercenary killing machine.**_

_**"Do you think I come here to waste my time?" Jade asked with a dark smile, walking toward the form of the weakened boy.**_

_**Sephiroth only stared back, training sword held limply at his side. He was trying to appear to be off guard, though in truth that was something he never did. He was always ready; he had to be, there was no alternative.**_

_**"Answer," the man said in a growl, fingering the tanto he had at his side.**_

_**Sephiroth hated that blade, though not as much as the katana. The tanto was obviously someone else's piece, or had been, given that it had the initials "RY" on the handle. Jade had probably taken it from someone he killed, the boy guessed. But it was the katana that was the weapon to fear.**_

_**The handle was clear acrylic over the white tang, and inside it held two preserved black scorpions on either side. The blade itself was styled after the older Wutai relics, the blade curved noticeably, though not too much. It had perfect balance, Sephiroth knew. He had examined it once. It had cost him quite a bit, but for some reason that act of rebellion had meant more to him than any other. He had touched something that was only Jade's, something that the man resented because he had been unable to stop it.**_

_**"You come here for some reason. I would not pretend to know," Sephiroth replied.**_

_**He was slapped so hard across the face that his jaw audibly cracked. The pale skin reddened instantly, the pain stinging, but nothing the boy wasn't accustomed to. His head had jerked to the side, but he only shook it lightly, his eyes hardening defiantly.**_

_**Jade's smile was sickly sweet, with undertones of sadism. "No, you should not assume things about me. But I asked for an answer and you did not give it. So, I ask again a little differently, on the pretense that you might be deaf," he said viciously. "Am I wasting my time here?"**_

_**"No."**_

_**"And why is it I should believe this from a pathetic little liar like you, hmm?"**_

_**"Because I have improved," the boy answered matter-of-factly.**_

_**Jade laughed loudly and humorlessly, his cold eyes never leaving Sephiroth. "I know many who would disagree. Hojo has said that you are having some resistance to the mako, do you see that as improvement?"**_

_**"That isn't within my control," Sephiroth answered, knowing it was a mistake.**_

_**"Not your control!" Jade was grinning, walking around Sephiroth, stalking, malicious. "So is that what this is to you?" His hands gestured to the room in general. "A world out of your control? What a helpless and sad life you must lead."**_

_**One of the lab tables crashed into the floor in one wayward movement of Jade's arm, scraping loudly across the linoleum. Sephiroth, much to his credit, did not flinch.**_

_**Jade's face was distorted with fury, something quite rare. His face was inches from Sephiroth as the usually collected voice reached an entirely new pitch that was almost pure shout: "Do I need to explain every fucking aspect of the world to you?" The lips were a hard line, white teeth barely visible. The blue eyes were like ice crystals, so cold and unforgiving that they should have burned when looking upon something. "Must I do everything for you? Is there anything redeemable in that weak, childish body of yours? Is there?"**_

_**Sephiroth's stare into the blue eyes did not once hesitate, even as the voice ground out in his ears, too loud to be comfortable in any way. He remained impassive as he was capable, not blinking, not showing anything.**_

_**"Yes," Sephiroth said stubbornly. "Whatever it is you must like it quite a bit, because you do 'waste' a lot of your time here when I don't even ask you to."**_

_**This time he dodged the fist that came hurtling at him. He drew his blade as the tanto flew at him, a streak of sliver that slashed to hurt. That's what Jade was: physical. There was nothing to him that couldn't be solved at the end of a blade. It was a habit Sephiroth was unwittingly beginning to pick up for himself.**_

_**Sephiroth held Jade off for a long time, fighting as best as his battered body would allow, knowing somewhere that it was all in vain. His stubbornness and backtalking would cost him. It always did.**_

_**In the end, he was the one in a heap on the floor, immaculate black boots kicking him so hard in the stomach that he coughed up blood in a light splatter over the cheap, white floor tiles. Jade bent down, and soon, a fist hit Sephiroth in the chest a few times, followed by the familiar tanto, which found its way to his throat all too easily.**_

_**Sephiroth was beaten beyond fighting, fists clenching weakly as his mind screamed at him to pull at some reserve of strength. But he had been training all day, the injections he had earlier made him more vulnerable than usual to Jade, his magic completely ineffective. It didn't take long for the direction of things to change. The eyes staring down at him had a that sick look about them, one that made the boy's insides burn and twist in revulsion.**_

_**He could only hold back a groan of hatred as the unwelcome mouth was on his, a bigger body crushing him forcefully and painfully onto the floor. A hand was in his hair, pulling so hard that silver strands came free in it, as he struggled in vain to bite at the tongue that kept delving between his lips, unwanted. It earned Sephiroth another strike across the face, one that was so hard he was momentarily dazed by the pain. He blinked through it, but wasn't able to see the too-bright lab lights, as Jade's face blocked them out entirely.**_

_**But that's all life was, wasn't it? It was nothing but pain.**_

* * *

Dreams were nothing new.

Sephiroth sat up in his bed, leaning over the edge, his head bowed. His hair was so long that it touched the floor in that position, as his hands massaged at his temples in effort to soothe the rushing blood. He sighed into the dark, getting up from his bed bereft of a shirt. He snatched up his coat from inside the closet, haphazardly yanking it over his body as he simultaneously walked toward the door.

He went and trained when he couldn't sleep; it was almost tradition.

* * *

A/N: I decided I wanted to reveal some things about Sephiroth, add to his character. I think it really helps explain who he's become, and why (how he's treated Vincent and Genesis particularly). The chapter title kind of explains it, really: Do unto others as they have done to you. This whole chapter really reminded me of the Tool song, "Prison Sex". It's a very evil song. That's where I came up with chapter title; I plucked it from the lyrics. For some reason that song always inspires me when I can't write. Weird.


	42. The Mad Doctor

A/N: You all are so great :D I've been really trying to pull this story together so we can start progressing more. This chapter starts explaining some things, as always, ask questions if something seems unclear, or if there seems to be some blatant plot hole I missed somewhere.... I keep forgetting what webs I was spinning before...got distracted by smut O.O

Thanks to: JadeOokami (thanks for the tip; if I ever get around to editing I will try to say names less; that is one of my weaknesses XD), kiralover44, NicotineGum, tokidokilove, -CNFB-, Risikaa, KT, Marezuls, whatevergirl, and OvenBased! To answer your question OvenBased, yes, the first scene in the last chapter was important. You'll find out about it this chapter :)

* * *

Vincent was walking to his next class, his eyes scanning over one of the documents a professor had given him. He was not reading it, however, his mind wandering to many darker places, and into bizarre thoughts that he wished he could learn to push aside.

It been a few uneventful days since the incident with Sephiroth. Vincent again found himself alone, though Chaos was never far off it seemed. The entity had been more active recently, snaking into his thoughts and clutching at his strained emotions with a cold, hard grasp.

He wasn't sure what had gone on the other night, the voice.... It had gone away, but Chaos, of course, had not. It did not speak to him again, though it seemed to awaken at the oddest of moments, tearing at his nerves, making him jump or flinch in class when it got to him particularly badly, flooding him with foreign emotions that came completely without warning. He didn't like it, he didn't like it at all. He knew he needed to find a way to silence Chaos, or at least keep it away from his own thoughts.

He had time to learn Chaos, at least. He had already started trying to focus on other things when those burning feelings tore through his veins. He suspected too, that the more he used its form, the more he would be able to understand it, and as a consequence, control it. But did that also mean Chaos got to learn more about him? It seemed two-sided. In any case, he would not be training as Chaos anytime soon, not on base. In fact, he wasn't sure how or if Sephiroth even planned to allow him to do so.

He barely noticed that a couple of his classmates were meandering toward their next lesson as well. He didn't see them exchanging glances and whispering, hitting each other roughly in the shoulders while trying not to laugh. They were wearing malicious grins, as one finally relented due to the pressures of the other, and bridged the distance to Vincent.

The teen's words came out very abruptly: "Uh, hey. You're Valentine, right?" he asked, his smile and the mocking tone to his voice hardly discreet.

Vincent ignored his peer at first, his maroon eyes focusing on the grade at the top of his paper. If he ignored him he would just go away. They usually got bored rather quickly when he made no response. When he kept up his pace in feigned obliviousness, his antagonist got bolder.

"Dude, what the fuck, I'm talking to you," the teen said more forcefully, his look of glee turning quickly to annoyance as he dogged the Third's steps.

Vincent gave him a dark look. He was getting tired of people being so rude to him, constantly finding reasons to laugh or trade rumors about it. For some reason, the other Third's tactless address made his anger flair up in that moment.

"What do you want?" Vincent asked lowly, condemningly, his stare one that was enough to make the other teen raise up his hands defensively.

"Just wanted to talk. You kinda don't hang out with anyone, right? Well, I mean except for that puppy kid or whatever."

Vincent halted, a frown marring his perfect face. "What?"

"You know, uh, Fair? That's his name right? More like 'unfair'. You shouldn't hang out with him. He's not exactly loved around here, given that he didn't really get where he was by fighting for it. He's just a leech, nothing you should waste time on. I'm just trying to be nice, help you out and stuff. I mean, I know you haven't really be around here much to learn the ropes."

Vincent's look had turned darker, his normally friendly eyes turning angry. This was not the first time someone had said something similar about Fair, and it certainly wouldn't be the last, but the Third refused to let that sort of talk go on while he was able to defend his friend. "Maybe I don't want help from someone as worthless as you," he said scathingly, eyes narrowed. "Leave Fair out of this. He's my friend, you aren't. So why don't you leave?"

The other teen in the background started laughing, while the one in front of Vincent only looked from one to the other hatefully.

"Yeah, whatever. You want to hang out with a lot like that, that's your business."

"Yes, it is," Vincent agreed, jaw tightening. "At least I have friends who wouldn't go running at the slightest sign of danger like sniveling cowards," he stated, letting his gaze land on the teen listening in on the conversation, who was red-faced from laughing.

The one he was talking to turned and glanced back at his friend before his eyes trained on Vincent, look gone sour. "It's no wonder no one likes you. What, has being trained by that oaf Hewley gone to your head or something? Arrogant prick."

Vincent, not one for such confrontations, found himself bristling. He moved a few steps closer to his antagonist, his face as close as he dared. Chaos was coiling in his stomach, urging him on, though for once, he did not need the encouragement.

"Don't talk about _any_ of them in front of me. You don't even deserve to say their names, let alone bash them. I've seen you in training. You're nothing but a useless brute, and not even good at that. I'm sure the Commander would have nothing good to say about you. You won't last here much longer, you can be sure of that," he said with venom.

The kid swung at him with a heavy fist, completely without warning. He hit only air, as Vincent dodged it, caught off guard, but somehow still prepared. The brute nearly fell from his own force, flailing to right himself, just a Vincent kneed him right in the crotch without even thinking about it. The Third was surprised by his own actions, gone wide-eyed, though he did not have time to think about the ramifications as things quickly escalated.

Apparently the laughing friend misjudged Vincent's skills, as he decided to join in the fray. He rushed toward the Third, body crouched somewhat as though he planned to tackle him. Vincent spun out of the way, quick enough to snatch up the back of the teen's uniform as he hurtled passed. He threw the kid into his momentarily crippled antagonist, who was busy clutching at himself in pain. They both went down, landing on the pavement harshly in a tangle of limbs and curses. The antagonist got up first, though not without some effort, flinging his friend off of him and looking absolutely furious.

They were a bit out of the way of the main square, somewhat toward the Thirds' quarters. If anyone saw the fight, they gave no indication of it, most just going on their way a little more quickly, not wanting to get involved. Fighting on base was the equivalent of getting kicked out in most instances. It wasn't tolerated, not even slightly.

"You little shit!" the teen yelled.

He went for Vincent again, his friend managing to get up as well. They went at him at the same time, but the Third was quicker than both, hitting one right in the jaw with his gauntlet-covered knuckles, exerting enough power to break bone. That one staggered, spitting, just as Vincent elbowed the other in the stomach, avoiding a poorly-executed kick.

None of them had seen one of the teachers who had come running toward them, his face twisted in disgust at what he had seen.

"Boys! No!" he ordered in a shout, grabbing onto Vincent by the shoulder. It had been so unexpected that the Third nearly struck the professor, jerking out of the man's grip in adrenaline-enhanced reflex.

"Valentine! I'd expect it from these miscreants, but not you!" The Third's expression was stunned just as the teacher commanded, "Relax!", upon seeing the boy's expression of anger and confusion.

Vincent was breathing heavy, not from strain, but a sudden nervousness. The two boys, one of which had some blood on his lips and a large red mark spreading over the lower part of his face, were disheveled looking and wearing very furious expressions. It wasn't good. It wouldn't look good from a teacher's standpoint, that much Vincent was aware of. His gut clenched as he tried to form a coherent explanation. What if he was blamed? What if he was removed from SOLDIER?

He hadn't even had time to think about it when the two teens had come after him. Fighting was considered inexcusable. Technically, you were supposed to find a superior officer rather than engaging in a fight, which to Vincent was completely ridiculous. How were you supposed to find a superior while two others attacked you? He knew it wasn't really meant to be a feasible option, just something used to try and discourage fighting as much as was possible, but that didn't help his case any.

He tried to calm himself as the teacher escorted him and the others all the way to their squad leader. His thoughts kept going to how much he might get blamed. It wasn't his fault, but he wasn't supposed to fight either. He wasn't sure what would happen. Things had been going so well, why did they have to get messed up now?

Their squad had switched leaders twice since Vincent had returned to Midgar. He didn't really mind much, not really attached to any of them anyway. Most were distant, impersonal. They only seemed to do their jobs because they had to, not because they wanted to.

His new squad leader was a First named Soren McQueen. Vincent didn't really know him much at all, as the man hadn't been that involved, only doing what was necessary. He was definitely an improvement from Johns, so the Third had no reason to complain, he figured.

McQueen was about 5' 10", medium build with short, buzzed brown hair. His head was covered in scars, which were easily visible through the thin layer of hair. He didn't talk much, usually just standing a ways off with his arms crossed over his chest, looking sullen.

They walked into his office, which was located right near their quarters. It wasn't used much, and it showed. The room was messy, stacked with papers and old cups of coffee. It smelled distinctly of sweat and the overworked airconditioner.

McQueen was already there (the teacher had called him in, as he had been on lunch break), standing by his desk appearing rather bored. He gave a nod to all of them, looking openly displeased. It took a few seconds before he started speaking in his gravelly voice:

"So? What went on?"

"Valentine was being—"

"Not you, Garrison." McQueen paused, forehead crinkling like a thin, crumpled hide. The tanned skin of his face shined with sweat. "That's your name, isn't it?" The man made it clear that he was talking more to himself than anyone else, as he roughly grabbed a random stapled stack of papers. He read over it for a second before tossing it back to where it had been.

"Yes, sir," Vincent's antagonist replied, brown eyes wandering over to the Third.

"And you're...Valentine and..." McQueen turned to the desk again, yanking at the paper he had just discarded.

"James, sir."

"Right," McQueen answered, letting out a gruff-sounding sigh. "Now, what went on?" he asked disinterestedly, directing his question to the teacher who was standing between the three Thirds and had remained quiet.

"They were fighting."

"Mhmm. Now who started it?" the Squad leader enquired, looking between the Thirds in his charge.

"He did," Garrison accused, pointing to Vincent. The teen named James only nodded in agreement.

"Sir, they approached me," Vincent protested, his voice calm as he avoided the hateful glares of the other two boys.

"Did you see?" McQueen asked the teacher, ignoring the Thirds.

"Unfortunately I didn't see the start, I just saw Valentine here hit both of them," the professor answered, truthfully.

Vincent, knew, as always, he was left to defend himself. "Sir, why would I start a fight with both of them?" the Third asked logically, his stomach writhing inside.

Things were already going wrong. He just knew he was somehow going to get pinned with all of it, when it wasn't even his fault. Why did everything have to be so unfair?

"I don't know. You have something you believe you need to prove, Valentine?" Mcqueen was staring him over in assessment, before his eyes traveled to the other boys.

"No, sir," Vincent answered in seriousness, his eyes filling with worry. The other Thirds were only hiding their smirks, Garrison rubbing at his jaw all the while as if to make a point that he had been hurt.

The door behind them opened abruptly, though it was done fairly quietly. The two Thirds both turned to see who it was, while Vincent only frowned at the floor, trying to figure out how to explain himself, hardly even thinking about who it could be.

"Rhapsodos, what are you doing here?" McQueen asked, his expression changing to one of surprise.

Vincent couldn't help but catch Genesis's eye suddenly, his heart pumping even more furiously. Why had the First shown up?

Everyone else seemed to be wondering the exact same thing as they looked over the redhead curiously.

"You can let Private Valentine go. It is the other two who need to be spoken to," Genesis stated to McQueen nonchalantly.

The squad leader seemed taken aback, his brow furrowing. "Why is that?"

The First changed to irritated almost imperceptibly. He did not like to be questioned, not by anyone, particularly some pathetic excuse for a SOLDIER like McQueen. "I saw the fight. It wasn't Valentine's; he was forced into it by those two," Genesis said with distaste. "I'll be taking him with me."

With that, the First gestured to Vincent follow without even making eye contact. He was already turning to leave, when McQueen stopped him. The Third hadn't taken a step, too confused, and knowing that going anywhere with Genesis was probably not an intelligent idea. He wasn't even sure he was allowed to leave, and he didn't need to get into anymore trouble.

"You can't just come in and take over," McQueen commented, visibly annoyed by the presumptuousness of it all.

The First turned his head over his shoulder, blue eyes unamused. "But I can. As a superior, I grant Private Valentine pardon from this incident." He gave a sarcastic smile to the squad leader, again giving a lazy motion for the Third to follow him.

McQueen nodded grudgingly, the professor saying nothing, though he looked to be somewhat relieved. "Fine."

Vincent could only follow the redheaded First, eyes downcast as he walked past his peers. For some reason, being granted pardon by Genesis was almost worse than getting punished. There was something not right about the man, and Vincent, not often one to think terribly of anyone connected with Sephiroth, couldn't help but suspect that the First was up to something.

Hadn't Genesis given him dark looks? He'd even fought him unfairly, and now he steps in to keep him from getting in trouble? It wasn't right. There was something seriously wrong, and whatever the First was doing, Vincent was certain it would not end well for himself.

How had Genesis seen the fight anyway? Vincent had been distracted, but he was almost sure he would have noticed the man. Then again, he hadn't noticed his professor until the last moment either. He needed to be more aware; he could get himself into serious trouble being so caught off guard.

Genesis's stride was as long as Sephiroth's, and he had to overextend his own to keep up. They were a bit of a distance away from the buildings, when Vincent could no longer contain his suspicions.

"Why did you help me, sir?" he questioned to the retreating back, his hands balling into fists to keep from showing his apprehension. He tried to look impassive like Sephiroth would; the last thing he wanted was the First to see him as fearful.

Genesis stopped, letting out a sigh of irritation. He spun around, long red coat rustling, dangling silver earring glinting in the sharp, unrelenting sunlight.

"My friends, for whatever reason, seem to favor you," he responded in a clipped tone.

"That doesn't mean you have to," the Third pressed, maroon eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Why, are you ungrateful?" Genesis asked with an ill-meant smile. "I really couldn't care less what you think about it, Valentine."

Vincent could feel anger beginning to start up somewhere in his chest, but he paid it no heed, going with the proper response to being pardoned. He wouldn't allow his feelings have mastery over him like several minutes before. "Thank you for getting me out of it."

Genesis only produced another forced smile, his tone dangerous. "Just know that you aren't the first."

For some reason, the Third instantly knew Genesis was not talking about what had just happened. The look in the blue eyes suggested something else. "What?"

"Sephiroth will get tired of you, he always does. He has no interest in you besides the physical, no matter what he might insinuate," the redhead said flatly, though his eyes were glimmering with something that made Vincent's posture stiffen.

He tried not to show his surprise that Genesis was willingly sharing such information, instead just frowning. "I don't see why that should matter to you," he commented.

"_All that awaits you is a somber morrow/No matter where the winds may blow_," the First recited, expression changing to sardonic amusement. "Have it your way, then."

He turned away without another word, smiling to himself as he felt the maroon eyes staring at his back in confusion. Lamb to the slaughter.

And it wasn't a pity, not at all.

* * *

A wolflike creature walked down a dark hallway, its steps measured, intentional. Voices could be heard coming from a nearby room, harsh enough to be called shouts. It blinked, its gait slowing to almost a pathetic limp because of the clotted gash over its back. The wound was crusted, the substance that had seeped from it almost black in color from being exposed to the air. It itched terribly, but the creature refrained from giving into the urge to scratch at it furiously, which would only tear loose the newly-applied stitches.

It was useless, it knew. Broken. It could not do what it was intended for, but its master favored it, or else it would not still be breathing. It was thankful to be given such a show of confidence. It snorted derisively at the loud argument, its ears folding back in displeasure.

The building was old and leaked with filthy water, a nasty mildew smell permeating the air and the soggy, stained floorboards. The wood was soft on its feet, giving when its claws grazed the surface. It was dank and cold, but thankfully its thick coat protected it from such elements.

The whole structure was built inside natural caverns, every room narrow with stalactites jutting from the ceiling. It was not an ideal place, but it served its purpose.

"You said it would work!" a man said angrily, his voice nearly a screech.

"It's not my fault that the system overrode it! How was I supposed to know that would happen? It worked, mind you, maybe not permanently, but at least better than any of your half-baked attempts!"

"Oh hell, give it up. You couldn't design a fucking paint program, let alone break a supercomputer."

The beast pushed its way into the room, shoving at the door with its soft snout. It's master was quiet, as usual, only watching the argument with little interest from behind thick lenses. He was typing on a laptop, nose impossibly close to the screen. It was unfortunate that his vision was failing so; it made even minor tasks difficult for him.

It received a very distracted pat on the head, letting out a low grunt of appreciation at its master's notice.

"Now, now. We can't have fighting, now can we?" the man it knew as 'master', said, finally pulling his eyes from his work.

He was sitting on a ripped computer chair, his small frame positively dwarfed by the crumpled green coat he wore. It was so cold that his breath clouded in front of his face, steaming up his glasses. His mustache looked too large for his small face, and was a shade lighter than his sandy-hued hair which was streaked throughout with rebellious grey.

"He's incompetent, Dr. Grimshaw," the bulkier of the two men asserted, letting out an irritated sound.

"Oh, come now gentlemen. We got what we needed, did we not? We know that such a simple virus was ineffective. We will have to design something more...potent. The security program was more sophisticated than we previously envisioned, but know that the Planet will not fail us. We will find a way to end Shinra, mark my words. It just may take more time than we had originally thought," the man named Grimshaw reassured, his smile a little too chipper for the tastes of his comrades, who both did not return it.

They had much work to do, that was certain. Their plans were constantly being sidetracked or decimated by their competition...unfortunate, but not at all surprising. At any given time, AVALANCHE had several attempts at bringing down Shinra going on at once, many organized by himself, others by the less...thoughtful side of the group, dubbed 'The Ravens'.

They also had a problem. Someone had slipped information to the Turks recently. As a cautionary measure, they had planted information to ensure that there was in fact a traitor in their numbers. As expected, the one called Sephiroth had destroyed the makeshift base, which had, upon all appearances, seemed to be their headquarters. But no, their true hideout was much farther into the mountains than the Turks would ever know. The traitor had also been dealt with...quite beautifully in fact. So much sprayed blood.... It was still a shame, however, that the Turks had likely gotten wind of their plans.

And that Renault, how useless he had been. Well...there had been some uses for him, just not as many as the doctor would have preferred. Many odds seemed stacked against The Cause, but Grimshaw was faithful that the Planet would not allow for such unfairness to continue for long.

AVALANCHE, in their most recent attack, had intended to halt the mako reactors, cease operation entirely, if at all possible. It wouldn't permanently end Shinra's lust for mako, but it would at least have ended the collection of it for a few weeks, and let the company know just who they were dealing with.

It was only recently with the last stand of Wutai, that there numbers had suddenly swelled exponentially. It seemed everyone had something against Shinra. Though these new converts didn't necessarily believe in "The Cause" (as Grimshaw liked to call it), they would be helpful. It was time that they stopped thinking on such a small scale, and started acting more...officially.

So the virus hadn't worked, but Grimshaw had a backup plan. It was risky, surely, but it could possibly work. It would definitely wreak havoc on the damnable company, which was the most they could hope for so early on.

And if that didn't work, well...there were always the other, less savory alternatives.


	43. Sadistic Fantasies

A/N: I hope this chapter isn't sub-standard. I had major writers block and only got this out from sheer stubborness. I beat my muse fairy with a baseball bat and she relented. :D

Thanks to: CaseyAnn'sPrecious, tokidokilove, NicotineGum, kiralover44, minoki, RedHerring1412, Risikaa, XUponTheTearsOfYesterdayX, KT, -CNFB-, whatevergirl, eclipse ze lunachic, and OvenBased! To answer your question, KT, those Thirds were just bastards, not put up to it by Genesis.

* * *

"You're degrading, Genesis," Hollander stated, his tone void of any sympathy. He was bent over using one of the computers, not even bothering to look the redhead in the eyes.

He had long run out of hope for his subject; there seemed to be little that could be done in such a matter. It wasn't all that concerning, as there was still Angeal Hewley to carry on the project in his veins. No, Project G had not been a failure, not entirely. The scientist knew there was still a world of possibilities when it came to other, future specimens. This had merely been a 'test run'.

The scientist smiled to himself as he pulled up the readings he had been searching for. They instantly flickered to life on one of the floor to ceiling monitors, brightening the room substantially with a white background and large black text that was overbearing.

It looked so bland and inconsequential, but it said quite a bit: the First's future. Genesis's blue eyes roved over it hurriedly as one of his gloved hands clutched on LOVELESS for reassurance as inconspicuously as was possible. But there was little to be reassured about; the words said it all. _If_ he chose to believe them.

It said he was dying. He wasn't getting better because he was dying. The word 'degradation' appeared numerous times, sounding so emotionless in the context. It also said 'ineffective' when treatments were listed, citing 'degradation too severe'.

The thought of dying hadn't fully permeated Genesis's mako haze, it just flitted across his inner monologue, barely a blip. He couldn't die. Couldn't _be_ dying. No. Hollander was either wrong, or he was crazy. He was perfectly fine, just having some adverse reactions to his treatments, which would eventually be staved off. He would improve, it would just take time....

But there was a cold prickle that pressed into the skin of his face, like a pressure as he continued to read.

Die? Dying?

"You must be mistaken," the First said finally, having finished reading the report to its end. "You have misread results. I'm not dying."

"But you are, Genesis. Have been for some time, actually."

Genesis ignored the part about dying, focusing instead on the scientist's words. "'Some time'," the redhead repeated, eyes narrowing. "What do you mean by that?"

"I had my suspicions. The bloodwork I did confirmed them. The degradation is like terminal cancer, it is not going to go away; there is no alternative treatment I can make for you."

Genesis positively seethed almost instantaneously, turning away to face the wall for a moment, while he barred his teeth at nothing, his whole body going stiff as blood pumped it full of an agonizing rage that he wanted to release more than anything.

Hollander had known, for 'some time'?

What if it was true? What if it wasn't a mistake?

It was logical, but he did not want to believe it. The weakness...there were times where he became so light-headed that his vision was blurred out by bright spots that threatened to make him faint. It was like being held upside down for hours, then turned right side up again without any preparation. He felt weary all the time, his body ached in ways it shouldn't have, and only a few days earlier he had found a few strands of grey hair framing his face. Was it just coincidence? Was he imagining the similarities between the diagnosis and his symptoms, or were they in fact there?

His face twisted into a grimace, his mind drawing at several thoughts at once. It could all be a consequence of mako, too much of it, and everything else that was being forced into his body in his search for physical improvement. It didn't have to be death.

"Redo the tests. You're wrong," the First growled stubbornly, fists clenched.

"I've tested your blood since every injection, it is over. Your cells are slowly dying. Mako isn't going to sustain you or cure you. Nothing will. I have tried everything."

"Well try again!" the First shouted, stepping in closer to Hollander, who visibly cowered slightly.

Genesis was in denial. He kept telling himself there was a mistake, that the scientist wasn't in his right mind. His hands went through his auburn hair roughly, the movement highly uncharacteristic for him.

Genesis had begun pacing, his coat slapping against his boots as he moved too quickly.

This was insane. Hollander was wrong.

* * *

Sephiroth was alone.

It was only during such times that he allowed himself the tiniest mental reprieve. His head rested in his hands, silken hair falling over the desk he was leaning over. He rubbed at his temples, almost pinching the sides of his skull between both gloved hands.

Headaches. They were constant. He had been getting them the last few days, likely from the new treatments. These were so exceedingly painful that he knew they were more akin to migraines, sometimes behind his eyes with a tremendous pressure that should have made been enough to make him vomit. But he ignored the pain, shut it out or endured it when he wasn't by himself.

He straightened, letting out a sigh in the deafening silence. The smell of carpet cleaner was assaulting his senses, not helping in the least with his headache. It was obvious someone had cleaned his office while he had been missing, something he did not like at all.

Sephiroth rose from his chair, the movement slow, unrushed in any way. He had a lot of work to do as far as reports and catching up went; it would take weeks to get back on track again. But he did not bother with it for now, as his mind was elsewhere.

He still had not been training with Vincent as he should have, having very little time for such things. The boy's classes also made it difficult. They had still had only the one session together. Thinking about it caused an instant reaction that made Sephiroth smile slightly.

That boy was proving to be difficult to ignore.

* * *

Vincent was jogging at a steady pace, alongside Zack who was talking incessantly as always. It was actually very calming to the Third, who hadn't really spoken with anyone in a few days. The Second had been gone on mission then bogged down with his own training, while Vincent continued on with his own studies.

"It was like this dog thing. Weird looking, a cross between one of those bandersnatches or a fang or something. It was too smart to be just a monster though, so I think it was altered," Zack explained, speaking over the sound of their light footfalls on the smoothed dirt. "Angeal hit it pretty harshly, but it still escaped through that hole in the wall. That wound would have really bled, so I don't think it could have lived."

"So you said they think it might have been AVALANCHE?" Vincent asked, looking over to his friend, who was texting as he loped alongside him. It was a lazy gait, but given that he was bigger than the Third, he still kept up easily.

"Yeah, apparently. I guess whoever did it wasn't even at the site, or at least, that's what they think. They hacked into the system, switched it off for a few hours. Angeal says the security programs on those reactors aren't exactly top-notch. Someone probably could have been there earlier though, we just didn't know about it."

Vincent frowned at the last part, staring down at the moving ground thoughtfully. "You would think that Shinra would try to protect its most important asset. It _is_ a power company."

"I know. Pretty stupid. I think it's the SOLDIER shortage, among other things. What I'd like to know is if they had any security before all of this." Vincent nodded at that as Zack continued: "We didn't find anything though. But I'm betting someone was there, given those monsters; they couldn't have just gotten inside, even with that opening in the wall. There was no breach on the outside of the building itself either, from what we looked at."

"From what it sounded like, they must have been trained," Vincent commented. "I've never heard of monsters waiting to attack when they were in a group like that. They should have just swarmed you right away. They aren't supposed to be very controlled."

The Third's pace quickened for a split second in surprise, when his phone beeped loudly from inside one of the pockets of his uniform.

"Hey, you have a phone?" Zack said quizzically.

Vincent looked equally as confused, but managed to fish it out without too much difficulty. "Yeah," he answered absentmindedly, before flipping the phone open. He paused in his run, stopping so that he could hear whoever it was clearly. He only knew one person who had the number.

"Hello?"

The was a breath of amusement, but Vincent didn't hear it. "Is 4:30 alright for you?" Sephiroth asked curtly, sounding as though he was doing something quite mundane.

"Yes," Vincent answered, for an instant feeling his chest tighten a little. Chaos squirmed in annoyance at the physical response, disapproving.

He didn't think Sephiroth would actually call him, only text. It was strange to talk to him over a phone for some reason. There was not much to read into besides the tone, which unsurprisingly did not reveal anything.

"Good."

The call went dead a second later, leaving the Third staring down at his phone with an open disappointment. He had been expecting more for some reason, but his logic told him that was not something the General would really give. What did he think the man would say, 'how are you doing?'. _That wouldn't be Sephiroth, would it? _Vincent thought, though he still bit at his lip. It seemed as though the man was back to cold again.

"Who was that?"

Vincent shook his head, locks of hair catching under his chin and sticking from the wetness there. It was an exceptionally hot day; he looked forward to when summer wouldn't be so sweltering. It seemed to be dying down though, thankfully. Maybe in a few weeks they would actually have some rain.

His hair was already getting a little longer he had noticed, as he hadn't been cutting it. It seemed to be growing faster than before, though it wasn't an exceptional change, just noticeable. He had so many weird side effects from everything that had been done....

Zack smiled a little to himself, when the Third said, "What?"

"On the phone."

"Oh." There was a pause as the boy struggled to say the words without giving anything away in his tone. He had a lot of feelings attached to the man, some that he wasn't ready to deal with so soon. "That was Sephiroth," Vincent replied truthfully.

The Second had raised both eyebrows, looking a little disbelieving, though he didn't think his friend was lying. They had automatically started moving again, strides in unison without any effort.

"He's going to be my mentor," the Third said softly.

"What?!" Zack halted immediately, nearly tripping over himself from the quickness of the action. "Your mentor? What do you mean?"

Vincent smiled shyly, laughing a little. "Like with you and Angeal."

"What? Since when?" the Second questioned, his expression and tone that of incredulousness.

"Not very long. We've only trained once." Vincent blushed at his own words, the memories that they surfaced, and shook his head again so that his hair would cover his face somewhat.

"But...." Zack was smiling happily, though he was still evidently surprised. "I never thought the General would train anyone. I mean...I just never thought he was the type, you know?"

"I didn't either," the Third confessed, looking down at the dirt.

"So he's really mentoring you? Wow. That's something to put on your resume," the older boy stated with a grin. His look sobered up quickly though, as his bright blue eyes roved over his friend's face. "He treats you okay, right? He's a little cold and stuff, but I think you'll get used to it. But if he's mean or something---"

"Zack, I think I can take care of myself."

Though he had said it firmly, he was smiling at his friend's protectiveness. He was again overwhelmed with the knowledge that people truly cared about his well-being. Even to an extent, Sephiroth. It was more than he had ever thought possible, given his past relationships with others. No one had ever cared, not really. It was strange to have real friends.

"Yeah, but...it's Sephiroth. He's not exactly a pushover. To be honest, I _still_ wouldn't backtalk him, not for anything. But don't worry, I would send Angeal to save you; he's good with Sephiroth," Zack said jokingly, laughing at the Third's expression.

"You're so dependable," he responded, grinning as well.

* * *

Bright light cascaded over the metal examining tables, and filthy, slimy-looking walls. It was a sharp contrast of humanity clashing with nature, exacting lines and shapes that were artificial in comparison with the rocks that stuck out from the rough walls, unchecked. They were covered with the grime of years of water damage, having a nasty greenish tinge to them that was slick to the touch.

Grimshaw pulled at an overhead light roughly, sniffling from the cold. There was a large heater propped in the corner, but as it had only just been switched on ten minutes earlier, it had yet to scorch the chill away. The beast was at his feet, paws crossed in front of it, with its massive, furred head resting atop them in a submissive sort of manner. Its red eyes were focused on the man's work.

"Fenris, Fenris, how long will this take, hmm?" the man asked, looking offhandedly to his companion resting on the floor.

Grimshaw was covered in blood, the red sprinkled all over his white apron in sprays. Even his face had a few spots of the substance on it, along with the thick lenses of his glasses. He always forgot to wear a mask. He did find blood to be somewhat pleasant, though not half so much as some of his...compatriots.

There was a squelch of fluid and flesh, as he buried his wrist deeper into the specimen he was examining. His gloves reached up to his elbows, smelling of rubber and fresh, aromatic blood tinged with the underlying scent of mako, which was quite distinct.

"Malformed, yet again." The doctor withdrew his hands, expression sour and somewhat angry. "I am no Hojo."

A wolf-like animal was spread out on the table, barrel chest looking immense when gaped open with the long y-shaped incision. The flesh was all pink and shining, greasy almost. Veins no longer pumped blood. Death would dull the lively colors of all the internal organs.

The specimen was missing its liver, though some sort of bizarre mass of tissue had attempted to take its place. Yet another failure. But its outward appearance had already suggested the grim outcome, given that it nearly had two heads. The skulls were fused, grotesquely deformed, missing teeth so that the long tongues dangled sloppily from the disgusting mouths. It had but three eyes though, one side more developed than the other, the cranium almost entirely shared. Quite the mess.

He had still not moved onto human specimens as far as creating went. He was trying to perfect the genetics of the monsters he produced, but he did so much altering to the original gene sequence, constantly interchanging and adding bits that didn't belong, that failures were more than common. He expected them, even. But he was learning, each project at a time.

They had needed Hojo, badly. It was unfortunate that his demise had come just before they had been able to reach him. Disappointing. But Grimshaw had gathered what little he could (Hojo had not been one for notes, he had discovered), and he had pulled some information for the peon, Renault. It was a shame that Craven had been killed; he was one of the few the doctor had known would come without struggle.

Grimshaw had been trying fruitlessly for years to achieve even a semblance of what Hojo had, or even Hollander. He could not create altered human specimens, however, though he had certainly made several attempts. He had instead been trying to alter things that were already living. Mako enhancement had been his first hurdle, learning how much, and when. He had, since then, experimented with many different chemicals, some of his own creation, though none had been as effective as the wonders that mako could accomplish in both humans and animals.

"We need to change that sequence again, don't we? Splice it with something else, perhaps?" the doctor muttered to Fenris, who was listening intently, ears pricked forward. "We'll start it again later. No time now. We have other things to do my friend, many, many things."

He switched off the light and moved around the table, carefully avoiding the resting creature. He had come to see Fenris as an accomplice, someone to share his thoughts with. Many of the other members of AVALANCHE were either thoughtless brutes or so-called 'scholars' who were not at all deserving of the title. It was out of the question for Grimshaw to make a connection with such people. Though there was one that he trusted, implicitly. But just one.

* * *

Sephiroth. He hated the man and he had yet to even meet him face to face. Word of mouth and constant action on the part of the General of SOLDIER, had been enough to solidify him in Evander's mind as someone to be loathed thoroughly. He had no illusions; he was no match for Sephiroth, but that did not mean was incapable of outsmarting the man. That _was_ possible.

The Ravens were surging in number, though the true inner circle had not grown at all, still consisting of very few. The secrets of AVALANCHE were only known to the elite, while the rest were mere opperatives, hardly involved in the inner workings. Even when they were, they did not know it. Few even had knowledge of where the headquarters was located, which was why it had managed to be kept out of sight of enemies for so long. Paranoia had proved to be quite an asset.

It was horribly drafty in the halls, but some of the rooms were better. John Evander had several maps strewn across the old, scarred table, and a yellowed notepad he was using to write down the more important information. He had the blueprints for one of the reactors, which he was scouring for weaknesses or possible ambush locations. One of his lackeys was in the corner, cleaning his dirt-encrusted fingernails with the fancy sword-shaped letter opener that looked incredibly out of place in the untidy, dilapidated setting.

"I bet he's vain," the man in a huge down coat commented, getting oily fingerprints all over the shining surface of the tool he was abusing.

"Who is?" Evander questioned in boredom, not really listening or caring. His voice was a low, yet sly crackle, unusual and unexpected given his appearance.

Long brownish hair was hanging in his face, knotted and disheveled; it had been weeks since he had the ample opportunity to wash or care for it. His face was covered in a heavy beard that grew in thickly, though he did keep it trimmed very close to his face, the one aesthetic he did feel the need to maintain.

He was short and thin, very slight in build, looking unwashed and unkempt with his filthy clothes. His was bony, his fingers almost skeletal as he moved them over the papers, pressing down a long-nailed finger onto the map. His face was gaunt and long, looking strange beneath his mane of hair, where there probably should have been plump, rounded features.

Evander was respected. He was a fighter, but more than that, he was a strategist. He rarely got to employ those talents, but he knew his time would come. It would be soon, it had to be. He may not have been eloquent or had presence, but his manipulative tendencies had still managed to get him a long way.

"Sephiroth," the other answered, flicking the letter opened between his fingers in restlessness.

He had his legs cast out in front of him, looking more uncomfortable than lazy. He was the exact physical opposite of his superior, Evander. Instead he was grossly overweight, with a clean-shaven face and receding hairline.

"He's a narcissist," Evander answered offhandedly, snatching up another map with a bit of unnecessary viciousness.

"A what?"

"Derived from Narcissus, the man who fell in love with his own reflection. Like Sadist and the Marquis de Sade," Evander said irritably, looking over to the fool that was attempting to look suave by over-reclining in his sad excuse for a chair.

"Wait, who?"

Evander ground his teeth loudly, then said angrily, "Pick up a book." His light brown eyes went back to his papers.

It was unfortunate that he had to be in a cave surrounded by inept idiots. Most of the others were gone, busy with their plans. He had been left behind, which did not sit well with him. He was more capable than they were, and knew it. He should have been the one doing things for the better of the Planet, not them.

He and Grimshaw were the most avid supporters of The Cause, but neither had half as much involvement than they would have desired. It would change though. The doctor was getting better at his experiments, while Evander was slowly getting more opportunity to become an influence. They would have their day.

If it was up to him, it would end with the iconic General of SOLDIER dead, and the President strung up by his own intestines.

Such a pretty picture.

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the very pathetic edit. I hope it wasn't terrible. Anyway, Evander's appearance is very similar to that of "The Stranger" in 30 Days of Night, played by Ben Foster. For some reason when I started describing him, that was the character that came to mind. So if you want a mental picture, look that up ;)


	44. The Root of All Evils

A/N: I didn't intend for this scene to take up an entire chapter, but...that's how it ended up. I can't believe people are still reviewing! You are so insanely awesome for putting up with me! Thanks to: minoki, kiralover44, CaseyAnn'sPrecious, NicotineGum, Ray of Starlight, whatevergirl, tokidokilove, OvenBased, and KT!

* * *

Vincent was walking back from training, a bit of a smile on his face.

It was so difficult to gauge Sephiroth's feelings, but he was happy with what had occurred. The man had been surprisingly warm in comparison with what was usual for him. They hadn't even done anything remotely sexual, just training, yet Vincent felt somehow better about whatever it was that was happening between them.

It was about 8:00, the sun having set not too long ago, still leaving a tinge of orange on the horizon that was almost entirely drowned out by the night lights of Midgar. The sky glowed from the thousands of artificial bulbs, whether they were from far off street lamps or catchy neon signs that were strung up on the sides of buildings. The sky and its stars were dulled out, fading into indiscernible specks that one could only see if they waited until certain hours.

The grounds of Headquarters were dark, though there were lights spaced out among the paths for some guidance. Most people were asleep during the nights on base, and as a consequence, the place virtually shut down after 7:00 pm. It wasn't uncommon for the higher-ranked SOLDIERs to disappear into the city until morning, then come back tired and somewhat drunk from their night of partying. They were not allowed to do such things on base most of the time (though certain holidays, New Years in particular, were observed and leniencies granted temporarily).

Vincent was still just a Third, and couldn't leave on whim even if he had wanted to. He knew Zack went out sometimes, though he had to get permission from Angeal, which was hard to come by, given 'honor' and all. Vincent smiled again, just thinking about it.

He quite liked Angeal's honor and dream speeches; he thought that they were inspiring. His friend did not exactly feel the same, and only seemed to tolerate the long monologues while trying in vain not to roll his eyes disrespectfully. He guessed Zack had heard a lot more about the Commander's ideas of honor than he ever would. He supposed he might eventually get sick of it as well.

That was one thing he had noticed: he had been slipping into calling the Commander 'Angeal' as he called the General 'Sephiroth'. It had happened a couple of times, but the man had not commented on it, nor made any indication that he disapproved of the familiarity in place of the formal. Vincent would never call him Angeal intentionally, not unless the man specifically said that it was alright, but the tendency to call by first name was hard for him to shake. He needed to learn how to keep things as Sephiroth did: formal in public, friendly in private, but it was easy to forget and make a mistake. He wasn't sure how the man kept things from getting muddled.

He didn't want to accidentally call the General 'Sephiroth' in front of his peers; it would be an indication that he had some sort of relationship with the man that everyone else didn't. That was true of course, as far as the mentoring went...and the...other activities. The Third turned crimson almost instantaneously, laughing sheepishly at himself as he made his way through the dark. He needed to work to maintain that formality; it would be unfair to the General to do anything contrary.

Vincent's mako enhanced eyes penetrated shadows, making them much lighter, less mysterious. He was almost wandering, completely introverted as he walked in the direction of his dorm, feeling better than he had in awhile.

"Something amusing?" Genesis asked, emerging from a nearby shadow.

It took a moment for his form to come into focus, but the Third knew it on sight, just like he knew the distinctive voice.

He stopped abruptly, maroon eyes going to the blue ones, that much like his own, reflected in what little light there was. They were predatory eyes, like Sephiroth's, though these ones were positively radiating dark emotion, flashing like a candle flame as they examined him with a brisk, dark interest.

"No, not really," Vincent replied, his heart already beginning to increase in rate.

Chaos seemed to rise to the occasion, flooding him with a rush of misplaced feelings of anger and hatred. They burned at his insides, writhing and slapping with a sudden vigor, as he locked gazes with Genesis.

Vincent swallowed them down, trying to bury them somewhere. Chaos raged inside, like a beast locked into a cage. He ignored it to the best of his abilities, pushing everything away and trying to cover over it. He had the impression that the entity was playing on the feelings of dislike he already had for Genesis. However, he refused to allow the clouding of his emotions to sway his resolve to stay neutral where the man was concerned.

His thoughts immediately went back to what the First had said the last time they had met, the things about Sephiroth. He knew he was missing something, he just wasn't quite sure what it was exactly. Genesis was the General's friend, yet he still wanted to hurt the Third, or so it seemed. Why then, had the man intervened when he had been in a bad situation? Was he trying to regain Sephiroth's trust?

Something about it wasn't right; he had dwelled on it since it happened, but had come up with no solid conclusion that satisfied him. Genesis was up to no good, that was what everything was telling him, even if he did want to believe better of the man purely for Sephiroth's sake.

"So you laugh without reason?" the First questioned, stepping further into the light.

It glinted off of his animal eyes and the dangling earring, while partially shadowing the man's face. Vincent could smell leather and the heady scent of too much mako. It seemed as though the First had been bathed in it, almost like when he himself had been suspended in a mako tank. He was sure if he got up close it would be like chlorine from a pool, red hair drenched in that smell, though it was currently dry.

"Maybe my thoughts were private," Vincent said softly, knowing that being defensive would not help matters, though he still felt very much compelled to answer in that way.

"You lied then."

"People do," the Third answered steadily, posture becoming straighter, more certain.

He would not be outdone by Genesis; there had been too many times that he had allowed others to pin him in a corner. Sephiroth was the only one capable of making escape impossible. But the First...he had no hold over him. Vincent did not like him, therefore their acquaintance, besides his attempts to keep it civil, was inconsequential as far as he saw it.

"Only to those they don't trust," Genesis commented, a secretive smile pulling at his lips, making his eyes seem darker somehow, though the boy could see them quite well.

No one but the General had any idea that he was mako enhanced, but he knew that the First in front of him had likely figured it out; the reflective eyes gave it away. It was information he would have preferred in the hands of anyone but Genesis.

"No. People lie to those they love too, in order to protect them," Vincent asserted.

Genesis laughed very quietly, the sound low and honest in a way that Sephiroth's never could be. "Something I have always considered twisted. If you cannot be truthful to those you love, then what are they worth? Lies do nothing but breed more lies, until it gets to the point where more pain is caused by withheld information than would have occurred with a bit of well-placed truth."

The Third, though he strongly disagreed, did not wish to argue. He did not want to continue talking to the First at all. His courage was flowering in his chest somewhere, helping him override his uncertainty for a brief period, at least long enough to get out what he needed to say: "It's getting late, I think I'll go back to my dorm," he said dismissively.

As soon as he said it, his insides clenched with an almost fearful nervousness. He knew so little of Genesis and how the man would react; anything could happen.

As he tried to move past the First, the man snatched up his arm in a preternatural motion that caught Vincent off guard. He tried to wrench his arm away as soon as the gloved fingers touched him, his face lined with anger behind locks of black hair. The grip was not at all unlike Sephiroth's, overpowering even to his newer, stronger body.

"Let go of me," the Third ordered dangerously, his eyes flitting up to glare into the calm face of the redhead.

"No, I don't think I will. I don't like to be dismissed like a pet," Genesis growled, his thumb and index finger closing down painfully on the boy's more vulnerable right arm.

Vincent was wearing his gauntlet, but he knew hitting Genesis would not be a good idea; he was not any competition to the First. The only way he stood a chance was as Chaos, who he was not at all skilled with, certainly not enough to fight off one of the best mako enhanced SOLDIERs of Shinra. He would not give himself away anyway, not for anything. Chaos was his secret, one that he would not give up unless it was life or death. Sephiroth knowing was quite enough.

"What do you want?" the Third demanded angrily, his lips parting slightly to reveal clenched white teeth.

"We were having a conversation."

"No, you were having a conversation," Vincent said, losing his patience. "I'm trying to get back to my dorm, it is after curfew. I think you can understand that I don't really want to stand around talking to someone who seems to want to do more harm to me than anything else. Thank you for helping me, but that doesn't mean I'm suddenly going to be doing you any favors. I didn't ask you to show up, you did that for yourself," he finished, almost out of breath from how emotionally charged he was getting.

Chaos was sending shockwaves of pleasure up his spine, which brought up very private memories, making him want to cringe given the context of his current situation.

"Don't assume what I did was for you in _any_ way," the First said lowly, moving as step closer while still not relinquishing the arm that was at his mercy. "I couldn't care less if you were let go from SOLDIER." The redhead's eyes were flashing more than ever before, his expression one that blatantly showed rage.

"Then why did you help me? You said for your friends, but for some reason that just doesn't seem like a good enough reward for you."

"It isn't your concern," the man answered shortly, violently releasing the boy from his grasp. "If Sephiroth wants a fucktoy, let him have it," he said maliciously, giving Vincent a none to pleasant smile that was all mocking and bitterness instead of joy.

Vincent frowned, jaw tightening at the derogatory name. He knew Genesis must have known that they were.... He shook his head. The man's words of advice from before had definitely revealed that he knew _something_. He wasn't sure how the First knew, but he did. Just the idea of anyone knowing at all made the boy's palms sweat. He had wondered before if Sephiroth had told his friend, but concluded that the General was the last person who would ever discuss something like that with other people. Sephiroth had made it explicitly clear that no one was to know about their sexual relationship, and that likely would have included Genesis.

He replayed the man's words in his head, eyes staring down at the pavement, avoiding blue so that he could concentrate. Why was the First acting this way, so defensive? Why did he care what he was doing with the General?

With that last bit of thought, a look of understanding washed over his features almost instantaneously. It took a moment for him to completely pull the conclusion together, and only a second after for him to curse himself for being so blind to what had been clearly in front of him.

The strange emotions in the First's eyes, the anger directed toward him personally..... The words of advice concerning Sephiroth, veiled, but now revealed.

"You love Sephiroth," he blurted, just as the First was about to turn his back.

He had never even suspected it, thinking that the man was just an overbearing friend. But...it was logical, it actually made sense. He wasn't entirely sure how he felt about it, but he would have time to think it over later. Now was not the time.

Genesis veered around to face him, murderous in every sense of the word. His blue eyes gleamed in the darkness with wicked intent that made the Third instantly want to follow the reflexive instinct to back away as quickly as possible.

"What did you just say?" It was said sharply, an accusation, a dare to repeat what had been spoken, what had been unwanted.

Genesis could feel the mako bloating his veins, causing them to stand out on his neck, then rise in random trails over his arms. His fingers tingled as they received a flood of fresh, ready blood. His mind was practically blinded with hate, the events of the afternoon having a substantial impact on his approaching Vincent in the first place, and then now, the broiling anger that felt as though it would rise over and cause him to demolish something any second.

Love? He didn't love anything. No. He did not love Sephiroth, he hated him. He hated him more than the moron Hollander, who he was beginning to suspect had more to do with his life than he had ever imagined possible. Sephiroth had ruined what little chance he had of being the best, of finally being recognized as something that wasn't a failure. His _friend_ had intentionally thwarted his efforts every step of the way, no matter how often he claimed he did not care for his own personal fame.

He had forever stood in his friend's shadow, nothing but a cheap imitation in the eyes of onlookers who did not see him behind the scenes constantly striving to better himself. Sephiroth had used him so damn easily, and he had allowed it. He had wanted things to work, he would have accepted his position had the man not been so damned disgustingly arrogant.

Sephiroth, the one who used to breathe in his ear and laugh in that dark, humorless way of his.... Long, mundane missions that they spent together, for once away from Angeal, away from all of the secrets and lies and excuses. They had been so cautious otherwise. Sephiroth, always wanting to keep it from the world, even from Angeal....

It had been sad, the day he realized he was nothing but a secret. He had been so blinded by being enamored of Sephiroth. They competed, yes, they fought and argued constantly, but it hadn't been with the intent to harm. It had always been as friends.

Things had changed. He had helped change them, he knew, but he was not the only one to blame. The heaviest of the burden rested on Sephiroth.

Genesis had grown tired of feeling like nothing but something filthy that needed to be hidden.... The man would make him leave his apartment immediately after anything had happened, though being invited in and of itself was rare. More often than not, it had just been late night visits in Genesis's own rooms.

No one ever showed up unannounced at his own apartment. He had also realized later that there were fewer excuses to make that way; Sephiroth could leave and it wouldn't look as bad had the man had forced him out of his bed right afterward. The relationship, he had eventually realized, had been an illusion. It was just sex, and their friendship was expendable.

He had never been the submissive type, but nonetheless, he had carried on with a very brutal physical relationship where he eventually concluded he was nothing but a tool to aide in masturbation. That truly was all it was, Sephiroth getting off, using someone else to do it. It had started out with the pretense of caring, almost loving, in fact, but over the course of a year, all that had died out. It had been so gradual, however, that he had almost assumed that he himself had a part in it, that they had somehow come to some sort of unspoken agreement.

It was their friendship that had made him so foolishly trusting. He had wanted to believe that if they were having sex, they were alright. All of the years being close had convinced him that Sephiroth cared about both him and Angeal, that they all had a strange sort of brotherhood together.

The apathetic aspects of the sex had only lasted because of their friendship. Had it been anyone else, Genesis would have immediately put a stop to it, but his judgement had been throughly distorted by everything else that was in the way. He kept believing that he was fine with having a very selfish physical relationship, that he could derive the same sort of things from it that Sephiroth did. And he had, for awhile. He just enjoyed it and did his best to keep it emotionally distant.

When it just became Sephiroth coming into his rooms unannounced and undressing him, then fucking him without so much as saying hello or even attempting to make any excuse for it, Genesis's vague feelings of love had been burned out by hatred. He refused to be used after all of the years they had been friends. It was unacceptable, and against his very nature. He did not yield to anyone, particularly someone who so easily cast aside a formerly strong relationship without a backward glance.

After that it became a battle of wills. Everything started to decay, their friendship wasn't even an issue any longer, it simply did not exist.

It had been ugly for a very long time, and even Angeal had realized that they weren't close to one another like they had been, suddenly ripped apart jaggedly, with lines of hatred and resentment. Angeal had never learned the source of the problem, assuming that it was just another argument concerning training and skill, something they seemed to be forever bitter over. They had been so careful to conceal the extent of their relationship, even during their long break in friendship.

It had been Angeal, ever the mediator, who had managed to get them to look at each other without loathing present in their stares. It had taken months for them to even become comfortable around one another again, and it never really did become 'comfortable'. Their almost illusion of a friendship, was forever strained, both untrusting of the other, though Genesis was entirely unaware that Sephiroth had always been untrusting of him, just as he was with anyone else. It was almost a game, both to appease Angeal on the surface, as well as to continue their feud underneath the guise of it all.

They did become 'friends' after awhile, though it was only from having to work with each other as well as from Angeal's constant encouragement. But it was fragile, taking almost nothing to shatter into complete disrepair. They had not entered back into any sort of physical relationship; Genesis did not have the tolerance to go through with any of it again, and Sephiroth had taken to using whatever came along.

Eventually they had fallen into an easier place. But Genesis had not let go, he couldn't. Everything that had gone wrong in his life seemed to be connected to the man. He had slowly nursed his hatred into a distinct, vengeful loathing, though there was certainly hurt beneath it all as well as a very distant concern for his friend.

The training had been what had cracked the facade fully. Genesis was, as always, furious when Sephiroth outdid him, especially because he believed the man did not work half as hard as he himself did in his constant search for improvement. It was unfair as far as he was concerned, and he could no longer stand the man's arrogance about his abilities, and the way he disregarded the world for the sake of himself. Genesis had no problem with selfishness, but it was the way the man had done it that had hit a very sore, corruptible part.

Sephiroth had been _given_ everything, while he himself had fought every step of the way, yet never reached the same point for himself.

But that didn't stop him from feeling the old pangs of jealousy each time Sephiroth fucked another useless Third in secret. It was degrading to him, to be compared to such obvious weakness, to such childishness that reflected a horrible, pathetic weakness in himself.

If anything, it was more his ego than jealousy that made him bristle at the sight of Vincent. Genesis knew he himself had never been such a useless waste, and never would be.

Vincent faltered under the look, but did not back down, holding his place, though he could hear his own pulse in the suddenly overwhelming silence, as the man stared at him with complete, undeniable loathing.

"Not so brave, are you?" Genesis said with a smile that was the equivalent of bared teeth.

"You're only turning on me because you don't like what I've said," Vincent observed, his fists clenching, the claws of his gauntlet grating into the gold metal that covered his palm and wrist.

He knew to be frightened, but that did not make him a coward. Even with Genesis at his throat, he didn't plan to back down and let the man think he could do whatever he pleased without consequence.

"Don't fight me Valentine. You'll lose."

"I didn't start this, you did," the Third commented, watching the First with open suspicion.

"Oh yes, I just start everything, don't I?" Genesis mused, hands gesturing flippantly to the night air, his voice tainted with a sour sarcasm.

Suddenly, Genesis was in Vincent's face, his red hair actually brushing against a cheek. The boy's stance immediately went rigid in defense, as hot, unwanted breath clouded over his lips, feeling wet and smelling of the harsh mako. The hair did smell like mako as he had thought; so overwhelmingly so that he would have backed away had he not been so adamant about not giving into the man's arrogance.

"You're nothing but a weak, dependent fool. Yet another who has latched onto Sephiroth in the hope that he will save you. But know this: he does not save you from any situation he did not create himself. That is the trick of it," the man stated in a hateful whisper, eyes roving over the perfect youthful face that he wanted nothing more than to destroy.

Genesis drew back just as swiftly as he had advanced, his face painted with a scowl. His coat had rustled loudly, but it was the expression on the man's face that caught the Third's full attention. The blue eyes had flicked over to some point beyond them. "And here he comes to save the day," he spat.

He drew his sword without warning, the zing of metal echoing through the quiet. He let it rest loosely at his side, though he was anything but relaxed. The tip of the red blade just skimmed over the pavement as he held it steadily, mako blue eyes brimming with rage.

"Genesis," Sephiroth drawled, nearing a wide-eyed Vincent with a quick stride.

The voice was so cold, that the boy had to repress a shiver. The man from a few moments ago in training was completely gone, the icy statue in his place. Green eyes were hard and calculating, swirling with visible anger that easily matched that of the First's.

"Keeping tabs on him?" Genesis said with a hint of amusement, though he felt none of it.

"You thought that Vincent being excluded from punishment would somehow escape my attention?" The General smiled cruelly. "You underestimate me. How unfortunate."

* * *

A/N: This chapter was meant to really explain Genesis. While I've been writing this I have never really seen Genesis as an 'evil' character. He was an antagonist, but he was never the true villain. This whole chapter kind of suggests who the real 'villain' or antagonist of the story is. He's right where you can see him now. But is he a villain, or is he a hero? That's the real question. That, my friends, is purely a matter of opinion. ;) I got interrupted with this I don't know how many times. It's 5:30 am. I am finally going to sleep. HURRAAAAAY!!!


	45. Not All Insanity Is Temporary

A/N: Yes, I have not died! I just again, had troubles with this. But thank you for reviewing! *grins madly* I keep my IM on all the time so I can have fun reading your reactions when I get them :D Thanks to: kiralover44, NicotineGum, Risikaa, tokidokilove, whatevergirl, Ray of Starlight, CaseyAnn'sPrecious, minoki, OvenBased, Aldalena, and KT !

* * *

Vincent looked to Sephiroth, though the man did not return the attention, being far too intent on the First.

The General knew?

The Third took a breath, eyes flicking between the two hostile figures, one at his side almost protectively, the other challenging them both with glassy blue eyes.

He had not told his mentor what had happened; he had been somewhat embarrassed by the incident and had decided to face it if and when it showed up. But he had thought that given Genesis's intervention, word wouldn't get around, and it hadn't, at least not in his squad. Even the two who had attacked him hadn't gone running their mouths, for fear of getting in trouble for it, perhaps directly by Genesis himself. He supposed he had been naive to think anything would escape Sephiroth's notice. Things just did not work that way around the man.

He was still surprised that Sephiroth had shown up; it was the last thing he had expected. He was thankful to no longer be alone with the angry First. Their conversation had seemed to be heading into the direction of a confrontation, something Vincent wanted to avoid.

"Yes, I underestimate just how far you will go to keep spinning your lies," Genesis answered through gritted teeth. He held his sword tighter, leather sliding against metal.

Sephiroth laughed lightly, in that same characteristic way, though this time there was an amusement present in his expression, making the sound all the more dark and hollow. "Or perhaps you simply read something into nothing. Everything I do is a lie to you, so why would this be any different?"

The General walked away from the Third, looking placid, like absolute calm. His eyes weren't as guarded as usual, however, allowing the boiling, frothing fury to be reflected outward, where it clashed with the enraged gaze of Genesis.

Chaos was rattling in Vincent's chest, all incomprehensible whispers and burning hatred. He fought to remain stable, concentrating on forcing the feelings down. This was no time to let it have free reign over him. He was still caught up in what was happening, the idea that Genesis and Sephiroth were more than friends. They were both visibly angry, making him feel like an outsider who was intruding in on a very personal fight.

"That's always how it is, isn't it Sephiroth? Everyone else has done something wrong, leaving you, the shining hero, free of the blame. They will blame me for this too, but it doesn't matter."

"Look out!" Vincent shouted.

He knew there was no purpose in warning the General, but his feelings overruled his logic. Masamune was unsheathed in a move so deft, that even Genesis appeared surprised, his face lined in hatred instantaneously.

There was a loud clatter of swords, the strikes so harsh from both sides, that sparks cascaded from the touching blades. There was a horrible scraping noise, as they both tore their weapons away from the other, Sephiroth's look one of open disappointment, while the First was instead, all anger.

Within a matter of seconds, they were moving so quickly that Vincent realized he would have never had any hope of keeping up with Genesis. The First was almost equal with the General, both matching each other blow for blow. Sephiroth was back to impassive, eyes empty but veiled, while the First tried to hit him with a flurry of swift strikes, looking completely enraged. The sound of clashing metal rang out all around.

Vincent wasn't sure what to do. He sided with his mentor, of course, but he couldn't exactly enter the fray himself. He would do nothing but cause distraction and maybe get Sephiroth hurt. He had no other ideas, so he spoke his mind instead, knowing it would likely have no effect on the two men, but not caring. It was better than just standing around letting it happen.

"Stop!" he yelled, coming closer.

Genesis practically hissed at the order. A second later, an organized sphere of fire came hurtling straight for him. He barely managed to get out of the way, feeling the heat of it as it grazed his gauntlet and brought up the temperature of the hardened metal. It hit a nearby building, leaving a blackened, ugly scar that sizzled momentarily before dying out.

The First was completely distracted, and had been hit in the face with one of the General's black gloved fists immediately after targeting Vincent. The move seemed to be pure retribution. The boy suddenly realized that Sephiroth wasn't trying to hurt Genesis, at least not to kill him.

His eyes narrowed, however, as he waited for an opening. As the arc of Sephiroth's sword flew past the First's body, the Third came even closer, going for the side that was more unprotected than the rest.

Genesis growled, flinging the gauntlet away from him with glowing, infuriated blue eyes. "This isn't your fight!" he warned, just as he nearly missed another sweeping slash of Masamune.

"Go," Sephiroth ordered sharply, cutting off an offensive move by the First, one that had been directed at the boy.

"I'm not leaving!" the Third said stubbornly.

"What are you going to do, Genesis, kill me?" the General questioned, just as his friend began building up a reserve of magic in his unoccupied palm.

He tried not to concern himself with the Third; the boy could hold his own if he had to, though he did not belong in this particular confrontation. If he could have, Sephiroth would have shoved him away, but Genesis was about to unleash some of his unchecked aggression.

"That was my intent," the First said with a sadistic smile, striking down low with his sword, just as he let the energy be immortalized and leave his weakened body.

It was a maelstrom, colors so intense that they were painful to look at, as all of the magic imploded outward toward the General. Silver hair flailed and twisted in the heat, as an almost crystalline barrier negated the power from striking its target, sending it slamming into the pavement. The ground flew upward in black, rocky chunks, catching fire instantaneously in some places, and causing deep fissures in the earth in others.

The Third had covered over his face as the energy had rushed past Sephiroth, knowing that the man would go unscathed. That still didn't stop him from trying to see what was happening, worry getting the best of him. He did not believe the First could kill his mentor, but he could probably harm him very substantially with a given amount of willpower. Genesis was surprisingly fast; he didn't doubt that it would be a very difficult fight to call if it was to the death.

The redhead practically snarled in rage, bearing down on the General, bereft of all the last pieces of mercy that had held him back before.

Vincent didn't know if he should fight or go get help. He knew that someone had to have heard the explosion; it had made his ears ring and his head throb. There were buildings nearby that must have had occupants, so people, namely SOLDIERs, would be coming sooner or later, wouldn't they?

He advanced, going for Genesis's unguarded back. Red sword met golden gauntlet, hateful gazes exchanged. Masamune deflected both, rising up between them and sending the Third off balance. He maintained his stance, however, somewhat angry that the General thought he needed protecting. Chaos fueled that thought, making him go toward the First, yet again. He, in a way, wanted to prove himself to both of the men.

Sephiroth sent out one of the infamous blue streaks, cutting up asphalt and causing his opponent to lash out clumsily to keep it at bay. The man was the perfect calm, cold, emotionally unresponsive to the glowers of the First and the desperation behind the offense.

"You cannot beat me this way," he commented, Masamune screeching metallically over the enemy weapon. "You will lose."

"What the hell do you know?" the First screamed, red hair flying into his face. He blocked the boy off with an offhanded blow, as though he didn't want to acknowledge him or his lesser skills.

This made Vincent angrier, and just as the two men locked blades, eyes unable to be torn away from each other, he again went for his target. Genesis was too distracted to see it coming.

For the first time, the golden claws slashed through red leather and pushed into flesh with a sickening ease. He could feel it when the metal hit bone, the resistence of it in comparison with yielding skin.

Genesis made a sound of surprise and pain, tearing his arm away. This only made the long gashes even more shredded, giving the sharp claws a second go at his already battered limb. When the Third pulled the weapon back, it had fresh blood on it, human blood. He could smell it as it drifted up at him, tinged with the chemical scent of mako and the odor that was Genesis. Chaos growled darkly in approval.

SOLDIERs were running up to the scene, some with open expression of shock, while Commander Hewley, who was the closest to them, had a look that was both full of grief and something unexpected. Anger.

What happened next only took place within a matter of seconds, though it seemed to stretch for Vincent.

The First had backed away from the General, his eyes falling on the those who were approaching. He made no show of the pain his was feeling, though there were streaks of blood all over the pale skin of his arm that had been exposed. Red dripped over rust-colored leather, pumping out quite copiously since it had yet to clot.

"Damn you, Sephiroth," he breathed, glowering at the form of Angeal, who was running to them.

There was the sound of ripping material, then the grotesque noise of something snapping, expanding wetly.

The General was only holding his weapon at his side, seemingly unaffected by the fight, though the Third guessed his feelings were otherwise. There was a bit of a shake to the hand that held Masamune, one that he could only see because he was barely two feet from the man.

A black, bloody wing emerged from the suddenly unstable body of Genesis. It curled out from his back, floppy and almost childish at first. The man seemed to stagger, struggling to stay standing. The General could not hide his shock, a very human frown gracing his features. The Third only gasped, opened mouthed.

A wing?

It was almost two wings, with a smaller lower one, similar to that of a butterfly in execution, though it was raven colored, with hints of blue and purple like a spill of used oil. Long tapered feathers stretched for a moment, just as the Commander came close enough to make his voice heard.

"Genesis!"

Sephiroth moved forward as if to stop the First, though it was purely suggestive, with no actual intent behind it. However, it appeared differently to the onlookers, who would later assume he had wanted want to stop the man, for whatever reason.

Genesis was in the air in one beat of his wing, a dark smile on his face. His eyes were still swimming with hate.

* * *

Snow was pricking at his skin, as Evander made his way down the mountainside, long, bulky coat pulled against his skeletal frame. Flakes caught in his beard, freezing the hair together within a few gusts of wind. It was miserable out, but he had a job to do.

The lackey followed a ways behind, tripping repeatedly in the thick, half-frozen snow, his pants sopping wet, the white ice falling inside of his boots. He was huffing from the exertion, though they were barely a quarter mile from the labyrinth of caves.

But it was a tough trek, several miles to where they needed to go. There wasn't really any other means of transportation besides the snowmobiles, which weren't a smart bet in such terrible weather, or on such a tilted slope. He rarely used one unless it was an emergency. He didn't like the lack of control that he felt when the machine more or less glided over the top of the snow, needing absolutely no encouragement besides that first initial gun of the engine. He trusted his own two feet much better.

He hadn't been to the makeshift site since it had been destroyed. What he found in front of him were frozen bodies buried in snow, like unimportant lumps. Their faces could no longer be seen, completely obscured by the falling flakes. He dug his foot into the snow, kicking it away messily, until he found iced blood, bright and red, taking refuge beneath the white. It was as though someone had hiked to the corpses and concealed them in thick white sheets of mourning.

All of the people 'working' at the station had been the more untrustworthy sort, not exactly anyone to be missed, which was precisely why they were put in the wrong place at the wrong time. They would have their graves in the mountainside, as no one would be coming to claim them.

The kills had all been clean when he had first saw them. Many had been decapitations, some deft, mortal blows to the back, as if the assailant had approached them from behind and ended them without even looking into their eyes. It seemed a very cowardly thing to do, particularly for the esteemed General Sephiroth.

He walked around the mounds of snow, toward the somewhat concealed entrance. A lot of the bodies had been dragged outside by other members of AVALANCHE; it made it much easier to get around inside in the tight pathways. It was somewhat sad that they had to be so much like animals, but that seemed to be the only way anything got done, Evander reflected.

It was cold enough inside that there was no stench. Everything that would have festered had iced over, scentless for now. It certainly wasn't as low in temperature as out in the blizzard, but regardless, it felt much like entering a walk-in freezer after having been left so unattended.

He walked over a body, the face distorted by death, looking too calm to be living, though the large, iced puddle of blood gave everything away.

The lackey toppled something over, a long way behind Evander, making the man sigh in utter irritation.

"What purpose do you serve if you can't even walk properly?" he asked to the hollow-sounding room, smiling in disgust underneath his grizzled, whitened beard.

He neared the row of computers, curious as to whether or not they would even switch on. He was surprised to find that the tabletop they rested on was warm to the touch. Was the generator still running?

He walked to a light switch, flicking it on with spindly fingers. Everything came to life with a mechanical hum, the overhead lights buzzing slightly as they fought the cold.

He pushed a button on the headset on his ear, and breathed into it: "They're still functioning."

Barely five second later, there was a response: "Oh good."

He spun around, startled, when the voice thundered through the room, the volume too loud. But what had frightened him, was that it had not come from his headset.

A screen on the wall had awoken, a blurred image of a blinking Grimshaw filling its entirety. His glasses glared back brightly into the screen, whiting out two large patches of his face where his eyes should have been.

"We will need all of them to do what I am planning."

"Are you going to tell me about it?" Evander questioned, watching the doctor's change of expressions.

"Not just yet. But I will tell you that this will be good, _very_ good. If it works out properly we will have much potential for future uses, where it could be much more...devastating."

"They have been holding us back for too long," Evander commented, kicking at one of the frozen corpses. "We need to start acting more quickly. SOLDIER may be full of brutes, but that doesn't mean they are stupid. They will begin to up their security, if they have any mind to protect what's theirs."

"We will move first," Grimshaw agreed. "They will not see us coming, not like this, oh no."

* * *

The base was full of whispers and exchanged glances. Everyone wanted to know if what happened with Genesis Rhapsodos was true. It seemed as though they all knew about the fight; it was drawn out into explicit description, though if anyone had seen anything it would have been but the last few seconds.

Basically, it amounted to a supposed argument wherein the General tried to convince Genesis to reconsider his decision to abandon SOLDIER. The First was considered a deserter, and had been listed as such, which had cause quite an uproar over the next few days.

The onlookers, the few who had actually seen the First leave, claimed that somehow the First had literally flown away when he had become surrounded. It was all exaggerated from then on, with too many different stories for any of them to possibly be true. Genesis supporters were adamant that it was some sort of mistake that wouldn't be understood until later. Innocent until proven guilty, was their argument.

Vincent found it amazing that men who were the hardiest of fighters, the most skilled of the Planet in fact, were just as bad at spreading lies and assumed stories as anyone anywhere else. When it involved their General, the icon of SOLDIER, things quickly got very messy.

He hadn't told anyone about it, what had happened, not even Zack, as Sephiroth had warned him against it. Not that he would have said anything anyway; it was far too personal a subject for him to want to tell anyone.

There were more whispers about him too; word had gotten around that he had tried to defend Sephiroth and may have injured Genesis, though there was no certainty on that fact. It caused both looks of awe, and even more glares of loathing from those who thought the Third had somehow started the rumor himself. Everyone knew the General Sephiroth didn't require any defending, so for the most part, the story wasn't believed.

Vincent wanted to see Sephiroth. He had only received the text saying 'don't speak of it', and nothing else. He knew the man was hiding whatever he was feeling; he had seen a glimpse of him as he had been on his way into the Shinra building. He was stoical, expressionless....

It scared him in a way, because Genesis was his mentor's friend, and probably...lover at one point. He still wasn't sure, not completely, but the way the First had acted reminded him of his own reaction to Sephiroth. Hate and anger because of the sense of betrayal. It just seemed to fit into place.

He frowned during lecture, fingering the phone in his pocket. How would he feel if Zack attacked him then left like that? He couldn't help but empathize, particularly since he cared for the man so much. He had a feeling that Genesis had been treated similar to the way he had been originally. He knew too, how that felt. He could relate to that anger, though it didn't excuse trying to kill Sephiroth. The First seemed to be genuinely cruel; even Vincent's benevolent nature was not enough to make him feel any sort of sympathy toward the man regardless of how he himself had likely been in a similar place.

No, he would not feel sorry for Rhapsodos. If anything, the man was insane. He never seemed to have any emotions in him besides fury and hate, always lashing out at people. It was something the Third didn't and wouldn't approve of. The man had been nothing but evil, though for some reason the words he had said had been haunting Vincent ever since. Chaos echoed them at times, in that voice that was not quite his.... He had a twisting thought that clutched at him.

What if Genesis had spoken the truth about Sephiroth?

* * *

Sephiroth was in his office, gaze often wandering to the window, causing the slits of his pupils to narrow even further from the obtrusive light. He was impassive, though he let out a deep sigh that reverberated through the silence, telling.

He wasn't sad, in fact, he often wondered if that was something he was even capable of. There was just a blank acceptance, one that he did not question, simply allowing it to overrule the human conscience that threatened to touch him if he wasn't careful. He had no time for constant regret or sorrow; they did not fit into his life, and he would never allow them to. But regret, how it tried....

Angeal was very upset, though he did not show it. Sephiroth could sense the sudden feeling of loss that seemed to coat the man in a dense cloud. There wasn't as much of a glint to his eyes, and his shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly, as if he was grudgingly accepting it. Everything about him spoke of the disappointment that Sephiroth himself shared.

He had not expected Genesis to leave, not in the least. But he knew there was little he could do about it. The First had made his choice, even if the he could not begin to understand why. It was more clear to him than ever, that his friend hated him. That thin line that was their relationship was finally to the point where it did not seem to be capable of being repaired ever again.

Genesis had ruined his chances with Shinra. For what, a pathetic argument? Jealousy? There was more to it, though he was unsure of what. It would take time to divulge whatever secrets the man had been hiding. It would be even more difficult now that he had disappeared.

The word that plagued him the most, was simply: why?

* * *

A/N: Vincent smacked Genesis, yay ^.^


	46. Only Human

A/N: This posting every other day thing sucks. I'm so glad people are still liking it though :D Thanks to: NicotineGum, whatevergirl, KT, CaseyAnn'sPrecious, Aldelena, kiralover44, Ray of Starlight, Marezuls, and OvenBased (thanks for the corrections; I will try to get to them! Yes, it was a late night...XD it always is with me...)!

* * *

"I don't know what to do about Angeal," Zack confessed with a loud sigh, flopping down into a plastic cafeteria chair opposite his friend.

There was a noticeable listlessness about him the last few days that had Vincent concerned. His mentor's mood seemed to have permeated his normally optimistic and enthusiastic personality. The Third felt the same way, though he hadn't even spoken to his own mentor. He just knew that Sephiroth couldn't have possibly been in the highest of spirits, though he would probably seem no different to anyone who did not notice the extremely subtle changes in his guardedness.

"I mean, I never really got to know Genesis or anything, though from what happened, I don't think he's the sort to trust," the older teen commented, ruffling his hair unconsciously. "But Angeal has known him a long time; they're best friends."

Vincent didn't respond at first, his face marred by a characteristic frown that was on the verge of being brooding. "Well, did you ask him about it?"

"Sort of," the Second said, looking sheepish.

He had the feeling that whatever Zack had questioned the Commander about probably had been a bad approach. His friend may have been great to hang around with and lighten a mood, but sometimes in moments of seriousness, the Second was a bit...tactless. He could say things that he didn't seem to realize were about the worst possible things to say at that particular juncture. That fact wasn't something Vincent planned to tell his friend, at least not all that openly; he didn't want to seem mean or accusatory. It didn't appear to be a trait that could really be unlearned for someone as straightforward as the Second was, unfortunately.

"What did you say?"

"Just...." Zack looked a little flustered, which was unusual. He leaned back in his chair as if to seem relaxed, though his posture was tense, uncomfortable, regardless. "I asked him if he thought Genesis really did leave SOLDIER permanently."

The Third let out his own sigh, though it was very quiet. His voice was soft when he spoke, almost reassuring, "Maybe you should ask him if he wants to talk about it. Tell him that you're there to listen if he needs it. That's really about all you can do. I doubt he will take you up on the offer, but at least he will know that you're concerned and worried about him."

"Yeah?" Zack seemed to mull it over, taking a long gulp of an energy drink, as Vincent picked at a pile of overcooked vegetables. "I just don't want to mess it up. I know I said the wrong thing that first time...he looked sort of miserable about it. I didn't mean to upset him or anything."

"I don't think he expects you to know what to say. Just make sure he knows you're right there with him. I think that will be enough," the Third stated.

"I hope so. I feel like I've been working with Sephiroth the last few days, not Angeal Hewley."

Vincent's eyes narrowed, though the move was entirely playful. This made the Second grin, putting his hands up in mock defense.

"Hey, hey, I didn't mean it like that. It's just that some of us can't take quiet and stoical all day, you know? The General is a little stiff, is all I'm saying."

The Third shook his head vehemently, black hair falling over his face. "You're digging a hole," he said, trying to remain serious and angry looking, though a hint of a smile kept forcing itself through his weak barrier. He was certainly not his mentor.

Zack rolled his eyes. Already, some of the dull mood that had been hanging over him, seemed to have evaporated. "So how's he taking it, anyway? From what Angeal has said, it sounds like Sephiroth's better friends with Genesis than he is."

Maroon eyes darkened for a moment as memories of the recent confrontation surfaced, but the Second didn't notice, too busy toying with a few grapes on his food tray.

"I don't know, I haven't been able to talk to him," he said regretfully, sighing.

"Yeah, I imagine he'd be pretty busy," the Second reflected, tone a little somber. He seemed like he was going to ask something, but he stopped suddenly, reconsidering. He fiddled with the grapes.

"What?" Vincent asked, gazing over at the green fruit his friend had arranged into neat rows.

"You know Cloud?"

"Yeah, the guard, the one we sat with a little while ago," he confirmed, curious as to what was making the Second so distracted about it. He seemed almost nervous.

"I don't think some of the SOLDIERs have been treating him so well, you know, because he's a guard. Actually, I don't think any of them are getting treated too well. He didn't really say anything openly, but he sent me a text that was weird," Zack said, staring down at his creation.

"He has a phone? What did he say?"

"Yeah. He said that he likes the base, he just wishes he was farther from the SOLDIER barracks."

Vincent's brow furrowed beneath his veil of black hair. He pushed the black tresses offhandedly out of his face, avoiding his friend's eyes for a moment.

That did sound a little strange, suspicious even. He'd noticed that he hadn't seen the guard around a lot, not even in the lunch room. He guessed that Cloud must have been taking a different lunch, though he had seen him come in a couple of times to get some snacks, then walk right back out without a word. They weren't really friends or anything, but it was a bit dismissive.

"They are sort of over by you, aren't they?" Zack asked through the silence, trying to recall.

"Yes, not in my section though. I'm on the complete opposite end; they are more toward Section D," the Third explained.

The 'sections' of the barracks were purely for showering and bathroom purposes. Large, enclosed washrooms were outside of the dorms themselves, made overly large so that there was never a problem of cramping. Each section (two for the Seconds and four for the Thirds) had its own facility which prevented arguments and made things much simpler.

The guards, much like the Thirds, had been set toward the edge of the base, though they were even farther out than the SOLDIERs, sleeping in the oldest of the barracks, ones that were rarely used anymore except in the occasion of overcrowding.

"Maybe they're giving him more trouble than most?" Vincent suggested, thinking of his own experiences.

"That's what I was thinking. He's not as willing to stick up for himself as you are; he seems even more shy and unsure. I think he probably does though, he's got enough anger, but not enough to really get SOLDIERs to listen to him."

There were times when the Third was amazed by Zack's insight. He could be very dim when it came to emotions and reading others, which caused him to say the wrong things, but there were other times where he was more aware of a situation than everyone else. It was odd. Vincent always found himself feeling very grateful to have such a good friend, especially when he thought he would never have any.

Zack grinned when the guard in question came though the open doors of the cafeteria unexpectedly, looking a little solemn, as he always seemed to. Cloud shuffled through the broad hall, moving between the passing SOLDIERs, not seeing the two teens who were talking about him at their own lonely table.

"Speak of the devil," the Second muttered, scratching at his jet black hair and popping a grape into his mouth. "I'm gonna ask him to sit with us."

Before Vincent could say anything, Zack had gotten out of his chair, and practically bounded over to the blonde, his smile more than a little infectious. People had easily cleared the way for him, both in vague respect and so as not to get bowled over. He wasn't always the most graceful sort. The Third was just glad that his friend's saddened mood was so easily forgotten.

Cloud stared up at Zack with startled, bright blue eyes, apparently unprepared to be ambushed while trying to snatch up some of the food that was quickly disappearing.

Though the room was crowded, and the two were far away, the Third could hear them well enough if he focused purely on their voices and did his best to block out the others.

"So, Vincent and I were wondering if you wanted to come sit with us." The Second turned to his friend as he said it, giving another grin.

"Okay," the blonde agreed, his eyes darting to Vincent, who was sitting at the otherwise empty table. The Third gave a half smile greeting, which the guard returned.

In a few minutes, they were all sitting at the table, similarly to the last time they had all been together. Cloud had gotten some of the leftover food that no one had wanted, and the Second had made sure to give him the rest of his discarded grapes. The boy was quiet, looking between his two companions awkwardly, before he finally decided to speak. He seemed to have become a bit more brave about talking to them since their previous conversation.

"What's it like?" the guard asked. "You know, being in SOLDIER?"

"Why, you thinking of joining up?" Zack enquired. "I bet you could pass the tests," he complimented.

The blonde suddenly looked very uncomfortable, his gaze dropping down to his plate. His cheeks had flushed a little, though the Second kept talking, oblivious as he devoured a lone piece of uncooked broccoli.

"It's better than the guard; you get better pay and you get a lot of respect from citizens. At least the ones that Shinra hasn't tried to gain power over. Can't really expect a warm welcome from the Wutai."

Vincent already had an idea of why the boy might have turned embarrassed looking that swiftly. So he joined the conversation, deciding that his friend's words weren't helping, given that the guard was no longer even trying to make eye contact anymore."It has good points and bad points. You do get more respect. I was in the army for awhile too; I wasn't even a guard," he added, noticing how the blonde brightened almost immediately.

His blue eyes widened beneath his wild blonde hair, and a small smile had already formed. "Really? I didn't know...."

"A group that low could get into SOLDIER?" the Third finished, though there was nothing biting in his tone; it was just a statement.

"I didn't mean—" Cloud interjected, his expression changing to both unsure and concerned.

"No, I'm not offended, really. Sorry if that sounded rude, that wasn't what I meant at all. I just didn't think I could get into SOLDIER either. I'm not the most physically imposing person here, and regular foot soldiers aren't exactly the ones SOLDIER is going to search through for recruits first." Vincent smiled reassuringly to let the kid know that he wasn't at all mad. "But if you have other admirable traits, anything can happen. I'm fast, which is what got me in. Even if they weren't to accept you now, technically, you could join up as late as 18. They don't like to start much older than 16, but sometimes they make exceptions because some of us just aren't big enough or strong enough to fit in with our age group. As long as you have some strength and something else to add that you're skilled at, you can make it."

Cloud was smiling broadly, as though he had just been given the greatest news he had ever heard. The Second was grinning too, and gave his friend a cuff on the shoulder as if to say 'well done'. Vincent only laughed.

Zack seized the moment. "So, I meant to ask you how you are getting on with everyone?"

He was punching a hole in the top of his box of apple juice with a sharp straw, which he had gotten when he was bothering the guard. He started sipping at it a few seconds later, trying to seem nonchalant, though his glances at Cloud weren't as inconspicuous as he seemed to think. Thankfully, the guard was too distracted to take notice.

"Okay, I guess," the blonde responded. He had become darker in countenance again, chewing at his lip without realizing it.

"The SOLDIERs have been rude with the guards, I've noticed," Vincent commented. "I hope they aren't treating you too terribly."

"No, it's fine." The reply was a little too quick.

The Third was immediately unconvinced, so he decided to take a different approach. Zack was about to speak, but he beat him to it, "Well, if they ever do, don't be afraid to stand up to them. SOLDIERs aren't allowed to fight each other. We're supposed to be a higher military, above squabbling, so we get punished for doing anything like that. Except maybe the Firsts.... But if anyone was to try to hurt you, all you have to do is tell a superior and it won't happen again."

Cloud nodded, picking up a grape. He seemed to be thinking about something.

"And hey, if any of them ever bug you, I'll beat them up," Zack assured, raising his black eyebrows.

"I thought that was Angeal's job," the Third commented, laughing. "Doesn't he do all the heavy lifting? Given that you're scared of Sephiroth and all?"

"Your voice is getting deeper," his friend observed offhandedly, ever the one to lose focus. "But yeah, I mean Angeal will be there and stuff, sure," he finished lamely, though he had that cheshire grin on his face.

"You're scared of the General?" Cloud asked, only understanding part of the conversation.

"Everyone is," Zack said defensively, crossing his bare, muscled arms over his chest. "Even Vincent," he added stubbornly.

Vincent only smiled, not denying it. He was afraid of Sephiroth, not just physically, but in many other ways. The man was not one that was healthy to keep as close as he did. It was dangerous in fact, but he would not tell that to his friend, or to anyone. It was between him and his mentor. Sephiroth held more power over him than anyone ever had, and he guessed, ever would.

It seemed like years ago that he had been in Cloud's place, curious about joining SOLDIER.

* * *

"It has only been a few days," Sephiroth stated logically, standing over Lazard, who was, as usual, typing away on his computer. "All the more reason to suggest that it was done on purpose."

"Even so, we will take what we can get," the blonde Director said, turning away from the glare of the screen he had been so absorbed in.

It was hard to look at Sephiroth, particularly when an icy coldness seemed to not only emanate from him, but taint everything it touched. It was like standing next to a statue of ice, chill seeping outward in graceful curls that seemed to grab at him, making him feel it too, though he hardly understood what it meant. It was not sadness, but something very malevolent.

Green eyes were lifeless, like dead eyes. Every blink was mechanical and so far apart, to the point that Lazard wondered if the General had to instruct his body to do it, that human gesture. If the man didn't blink, he would have seemed all the more unreal, long flowing locks of silver hair appearing almost white when under the scrutiny of the luminescent bulbs of the meeting room.

His skin looked pale and perfect, as the light took the slight tinge of tan out of it, making him angelic, like an ancient painting on a cathedral ceiling, but fresh, newly created. It was the gleaming silver pauldrons, so exquisitely kept, and the lengthy trenchcoat that brought on the slightest bit of questioning about the angel theory. The frighteningly long sword, the placid or blank expression, they made one wonder as well. But it was all in the eyes, if the man so wished one to know.... They could shift for the briefest of instances, just when he seemed too perfect to be breathing, to have fault. And in that moment, when he showed it, there was no doubting what the General was. Predator. No angel. Demon, maybe. Demon in hiding, in sheep's clothing. A lie so beautifully painted that no one would dare doubt it, even as a sword slid through their flesh...they would still wonder....

That was why Sephiroth was so valuable; he was not at all what he seemed. There was an evil beneath the surface, a ruthlessness and cunning that made him quite an asset.

"Genesis is planning something," the General concluded, his hands clasped behind his back.

His eyes were stony as he kept every emotion so carefully concealed. The First was no fool, in fact, when he was away from the heat of battle, Genesis was quite a strategist. It was when he got hotheaded that he made mistakes, which given the circumstances, was possible. Sephiroth, however, did not believe it. No. There was a reason.

"The President has requested that you take this mission."

Much to his credit, the General remained impassive. "I don't know if I would be the proper choice," he offered, his inflection flat, as though he were discussing nothing but the weather.

"It has been established that if he's to refuse to rejoin SOLDIER, he will have to be..." Lazard paused for a moment, "...eliminated."

"I see."

Sephiroth held back the wave of hopelessness that rose in his chest, battering it down almost effortlessly. He had no time to let his feelings run away with him. It had been fine that Genesis had run, but he had never allowed his thoughts to travel to what the consequences would be. The order to assassinate him upon refusal was not at all unexpected, but it still affected him greatly. He had many reasons to feel anger toward his former friend, however, that did not change their history together. There had certainly been many enjoyable moments, many with Angeal, and some of them even alone.

"Our argument was personal. For those reasons, I feel it would only fuel whatever resentment he has toward Shinra, toward SOLDIER, if I were to be the one to attempt to convince him to return. In fact, I would recommend Commander Hewley and his student, Fair."

"Personal...." Lazard's eyebrows drew together at that. "Yes, I thought as much. You may be right that you are not the proper choice then." It took a moment, but the Director spun back to his computer, quickly inputting something.

"So you vouch for Zack Fair?" Lazard had raised an eyebrow, wondering why the man was recommending two SOLDIERs for the mission. He kept that question for later, however.

"Yes," Sephiroth confirmed.

"Are you certain that resolving the conflict would not help in convincing him to come back?"

"He will not see reason on this. And it is my belief that it is much larger than that single argument. My involvement on any level will likely only nullify any of the remaining reasons he has to return."

"You're sure of this? It seems as though solving the prob—"

"No, it will not work. Send Hewley and Fair. I believe it will take both of them to handle this mission," Sephiroth interrupted, his tone curt.

"I'm afraid I still don't follow. Both? The Commander would be enough, I would think," Lazard said, looking at the General from over his glasses with interest.

"It is a trap. I also believe that Fair will prove to be a good mediator in this situation. Genesis has little reason to feel any negative emotions toward him."

The last statement wasn't exactly true, but Sephiroth did not feel the need to mention it. He had his own personal reasons for sending Zack along, mainly for Angeal. The man was more than strong enough to stand alone, the General had every faith in him, but his student would support him in ways that he probably didn't believe he needed. The Second, though he would cause extra tension in relation to his personal safety, he would loosen the Commander's brooding mood.

Whatever it was Genesis was planning, Sephiroth had a feeling they would benefit from being a pair. Had he the choice, he would have gone with Angeal himself, but he knew that even showing up would send his former friend flying into a rage. It wouldn't do. Zack wasn't the greatest choice either, given that the First seemed so prone to jealousy. He wasn't sure if there would be issues between the two, but he knew the Second's easygoing personality likely wouldn't hurt matters any.

He didn't like it, not at all. There was no reason for the First to show up so soon. He would have been much more cautious if he had wanted to keep his whereabouts unknown. No. Sephiroth would not believe that his former friend had accidentally been spotted.

Genesis had done it with intent, for some purpose yet to be revealed....

* * *

A/N: Feels as though we are going a snail's pace, but I wanted some Cloud characterization before we jump into my distortion of Crisis Core *grins*


	47. Too Cold for Comfort

A/N: We're still going! Everyone has my reviewers to thank for that: whatevergirl, NicotineGum, Ray of Starlight, Chicken Nova, kiralover44, XUponTheTearsOfYesterdayX, Valitiel, JadeOokami, -CNFB-, BeeJang, KT, Marezules, OvenBased, and CaseyAnn'sPrecious! To answer your questions, JadeOokami, there won't be a ton of Cloud...though there will be lots more Zack, if it's any consolation.... As for if this will go past CC...uh...I can't say. *grins* I don't know. Haha. The sad truth.

* * *

Vincent had just finished drills, and was covered in a sheen of sweat. He had gotten a text from his mentor a few minutes previous, and was hurrying to get to one of the training rooms to meet him.

It had been the typical no-nonsense message, one that revealed nothing to him. He wondered what it could be about, given that it was early in the morning, 6 am to be precise, not at all a good time for their training session, given that he still had a day's worth of classes to wade through and little spare time. He generally had a 'spur of the moment' sword practice with Zack around 6:30 as well, since they both had a short window around that time.

He just hoped something hadn't happened and it was just a regular call, though again, the timing was very much off.

It wasn't without a hint of nervousness that he slid in his card key and entered. The door shut behind him with a mechanical locking sound, as he took a few hesitant steps forward, trying to see something of his mentor, who was almost with his back completely to him.

"Sephiroth?" Vincent addressed, making certain the General did in fact know that he was present.

He seemed...distant. Just the way he was standing was enough to suggest to the Third not to expect a relaxed encounter, but one rife with tension. Shoulders were held back tightly, too tightly, as though the man expected to be attacked at any moment.

Sephiroth looked back at Vincent over a pauldron, eyes veiled as ever. "Angeal and Zack have been sent after Genesis. I doubt you will have training with either of them for several days."

"Okay," the Third answered quietly, frowning slightly.

"Since that will allot you extra time, I'll be taking over for the both of them, that includes the unscheduled sessions with Zack."

Vincent nodded, though he found it a little strange. It was true, he didn't actually have a scheduled time to meet his friend in the morning (their real session was around midmorning), but they both tended to show up, just the same. Again, he was struck with how his mentor seemed to know a lot of things.

"Today, however, we will be doing something different. I've had you dismissed from your next classes." Sephiroth turned around entirely, his gaze that assessing, calculating kind that made the Third almost flinch. "We can leave whenever you are ready."

* * *

Vincent had been very surprised when they had left the base in one of the experimental Jeeps. He had gone back to his dorm to get a few things Sephiroth had requested, all of which made it obvious that they were probably going to be training. The thought of doing something that wasn't just typical swordplay or endurance strengthening elevated his mood.

They had to drive past several outposts before leaving the outskirts of Midgar, where they were required to show ID every single time, though everyone obviously recognized Sephiroth; he wasn't exactly difficult to miss or mistake for someone else.

Finally, when they had left the city, his mentor seemed to relax a bit, though not much at all by anyone else's standards. The very set way to his shoulders was less severe, and his eyes weren't so stony and unreachable, though nothing about them said approachable; they never really did. It, however, was improvement as far as the boy was concerned.

"Sephiroth, where are we going?"

He had wanted to ask earlier, but had remained quiet, as the man hadn't seemed at all in the mood to converse about anything. He had waited patiently for a moment when his mentor wasn't so absorbed in his own thoughts.

Green eyes flicked to his face for a moment, leaving the road. "Somewhere without ceilings," the man said enigmatically.

The Third couldn't help but smile at the answer, letting his vision drift out to the scenery that flew past the window. The General always seemed to drive fast, to the point that it was almost unsettling.

They were on the main roads for a good half an hour, the picturesque world around them getting less and less like civilization and more like something wild. The smells changed, which excited the dormant Chaos into a semi-wakefulness. The sensation of a mild pleasure wasn't bad as it usually was, given it originated from simple scents instead of something unpleasant to Vincent, like violence, which seemed to evoke a similar reaction, though one that was much stronger. For once, he felt like he and the entity were on the same side: nature was beautiful in a way the city never could hope to be.

When they turned onto a nondescript dirt road like any other, he began to reason that maybe he was going to get to do something as Chaos. After all, it was true: he couldn't fly much with low ceilings, and throwing around spheres of energy would destroy property and probably wind him up with garnished wages. He grinned at that thought.

There was no question about it, there would be no Chaos at the base. No one could know, and if the Turks kept a close an eye on everyone as the General said, it would be a very big mistake to even hint at something as bizarre and life-altering as the creature that resided inside of him.

The road became a narrow, unkempt trail, trees lining it all the way and scraping against the sides of the vehicle, scratching over the large logo of SOLDIER. The Jeep was jostled back and forth without mercy, as Sephiroth urged it forward, the huge, knobbed tires finding purchase on the cracked, dry, summer ground and spewing up a cloud of dust that made it impossible to see behind them.

Vincent smiled as they went over a particularly terrible bump, his whole stomach feeling as though it had crashed into his throat.

Sephiroth did not seem to be impacted at all by the rutted road, his gaze focusing on what was ahead of them, as he steered them over rocks and more low spots. The Third had begun to wonder if they were almost there; they seemed to have been driving forever.

The Jeep veered off of the sad excuse for a trail very suddenly, going over a section of high grass that looked to be trampled by cattle, given the heaps of rounded dung and the worn down animal highway that he had only just realized must have been following alongside their own road. Hoof prints were everywhere, though the vehicle didn't pay them any heed, obediently rushing over the ground at a good thirty miles an hour, though there was no road or trail to speak of. They were crushing down the grass as they went, leaving telltale track marks over it.

It too awhile, but they finally came to a stop between two trees, in place that didn't look much different from the surrounding spindled woods. It wasn't a forest by any means, though there were trees, thin-branched and covered in scratchy browned leaves. That yellowed grass was everywhere, waist high in some areas.

Sephiroth opened his door, prompting Vincent to do the same. They both got out onto the crunchy ground, the man letting out an inaudible sigh to himself that the boy missed.

"Where are we?"

"A ways from Kalm," Sephiroth responded, grabbing his sword from the backseat. Cerberus had been stored back there as well, which he also took, handing it over to his student along with three heavy boxes of ammo.

The Third was watching his mentor closely, had been the entire drive. He was cut off completely, seemingly in his own head, someplace Vincent could not follow. He wanted to talk to the man, but he refrained, deciding to wait until it felt like a better time, as he had before. That seemed to be the only approach there was with Sephiroth: waiting.

The man started walking away from the Jeep, and the boy followed.

It was quiet, almost too much so. It felt as though the world had died. There was no wind to push back the overwhelming heat that was cast down on them from the powerful rays of the sun, and no birds or sounds of breaking sticks to tell of the presence of other living things. It seemed as though it was just them, all alone.

They went through the underbrush for a short while, Sephiroth's strides slower so that the boy did not have to jog to keep up. It seemed as though he wanted them both to enjoy the walk.

"Can I ask you something?"

The General looked over at him, his boots avoiding any stray twigs that would make unnecessary noise, purely out of habit.

"Are you...I mean..." Vincent tried to find the proper words. He had planned on what to say, but in the face of the man himself, he lost his concentration. He now knew how Zack must have felt trying to relate his worry to his own mentor. He swallowed nervously. "I'm sorry about Genesis. And I don't mean to bring it up, I just...wanted you to know."

There was a long silence, in which all that was heard was their measured footfalls. His eyes were on the General, whose vision was flicking over the ground as he seemed to consider what had been said. The Third grew steadily more nervous up until the man finally said something.

"Don't concern yourself over it," Sephiroth stated simply after awhile, sounding too emotionless to be human.

"You don't have to pretend in front of me," Vincent whispered, looking forlorn.

He could feel his chest clench on itself painfully, making him want to cringe at how much he had let the man into his life...into his head. He stamped out the thought of 'heart'.

Sephiroth's gaze was on the boy's in an instant, a flash of anger distorting the green, making Vincent's posture stiffen in response.

"Don't concern yourself with it," he said again, though this time it was much more stern, like an order rather than a friendly suggestion.

The Third only nodded meekly, a frown underneath the black hair that drifted into his vision, sticking to him in the heat.

They did not speak until they reached the clearing. The trees stopped around the edges of it, withered and old. Grass covered over much of the area, still yellowed in some places, though some of it had also changed to green. Vincent couldn't help but stare, his eyes quickly imprinting every detail into his mind.

It was the pond that was the central focus of the area. It was not a small body of water, but actually fairly substantial, filling up a large space in the clearing. A few puffy wisps of clouds in the sky reflected off of the mirrored surface, making its placidness seem almost peaceful instead of foreboding.

There was a certain darkness to the place, the way the trees were so twisting, gnarled. The shadows cast by them made the area cool, but they also made it more melancholy. But as far as Vincent was concerned, however, it was beautiful. He couldn't remember any other time he had seen something like it since their time spent at the ocean. There had been so few times he had been outside the city, which made him fully appreciated the tremendous difference. Even the air was cleaner, fresher, and the smells...so different. He could smell the water, the trees, the dry scent of the grass....

"How did you find this place?" he asked, unable to refrain from keeping his happiness to himself.

Sephiroth sighed almost nostalgically, his eyes intent on the surface of the water. "Jade brought me here one occasion."

"Jade?" Vincent asked curiously, not recalling the name.

He was gazing at the pond as well, interested in all the green patches of foliage around it, which dulled a little the further away they were. There was the muddy smell of algae and the buzzing of insects, the first creatures he had heard since arriving. He could see dragonflies zooming over the surface of the water, flitting after bugs.

"The man who taught me the sword," the General answered, almost mechanically.

Maroon eyes darkened. He looked away from the pleasantness of the pond, everything instantly losing part of its enchantment in the face of reality.

So he had a name.... Something in Vincent seemed to shrink away, as if to hide, though his mind suddenly filled with questions he wanted to ask. He could feel a sorrow washing over him when he thought about what his mentor had confessed before.

"Does...it remind you of him to come here?" he questioned quietly, wondering if Sephiroth would get angry about it; he wouldn't necessarily blame him. He didn't think he would want to talk about something like that, though he couldn't seem to keep himself quiet.

The General made a 'hmm' sound, one that was distracted. Just when the Third though the man would change the subject or start their session in avoidance, he spoke: "Not in a bad way. It was my first trip outdoors; I must have been younger than eight," he reflected aloud, seeming to mull over it. "It was during the short time that we were friends; he was very manipulative then, convincing me to trust him. He brought me here, said that I needed to see water."

Vincent was watching the man very carefully, trying to find weakness in the perfect calm. He had a thought. "Is that why you took me to water?"

Sephiroth didn't respond, though his eyes moved from the stillness of the pond. He turned his head to the boy, examining him in a similar fashion to the one he himself was being studied.

"There are certain things one must keep from being marred by darkness."

There was much more to the statement than first appeared, and the Third knew it. He pushed it aside for later, however, as his mind finally processed what had been said. His expression had become almost upset. "You had never been outside?"

"No."

Vincent swallowed, his hands clenching somewhat. Since the man was providing answers, he didn't focus on any particular one for the moment, hoping to find out more while Sephiroth was of the mind to reveal. "What happened to Jade?"

There was another long silence, in which his mentor only looked at him as though he hadn't spoken. But finally, he broke the quiet, looking almost automated. It was said tonelessly: "I don't know."

Something sank in the Third's stomach. Chaos burned at him, almost in delight, which made the boy feel almost instantly nauseated. "Did you ever try to find him?"

Sephiroth smiled, the expression almost sick. It startled Vincent, whose pulse instantly quickened in response, almost fearfully. The pupils had gone to mere lines, almost indiscernible amongst swirling green. It was so sudden, and a complete change from the expressionlessness from only seconds before. "I dream about finding him, what I would do...." It was almost hissed, the deadpan voice distorted into a crackle, as though tainted with hate.

"But you never found him...that means...."

"He could still be alive, yes," the General said quickly, fingering the sword he was holding in his gloved hands.

"Does that bother you? Do you think about it?" the boy asked, the words tumbling from his mouth almost without his consent.

"It makes no difference. If he wishes to face me, then so be it. I will not falter; he would be the one to fall. It is only fitting that disciple surpass master."

"Do you thi—"

"There is no reason to speak of it," Sephiroth stated dismissively, finally putting an end to the conversation. "I brought you here so that you would have the opportunity to train without walls or restraint. You still haven't been properly schooled with that weapon," he said, eyes falling on the overlarge gun Vincent had been carrying.

The boy was still caught up in their last words, only just trying to sever the tumultuous thoughts that kept overwhelming everything else. There was no use trying to press the subject, and he knew that it would be cruel to do so, though that didn't stop him from feeling a sense of disappointment that no matter what, the man would never be open with him, at least not the way others were capable.

He tried to focus, like Sephiroth would, though he was nowhere near as controlled. Instead, he kept his eyes on his mentor, taking in what was said, even as his mind kept trying to drag him elsewhere. He tried to make the worry drain from his expression. He didn't have time to dwell on his mentor's past when there was a _now_ to concern himself over.

"We will start with Chaos," Sephiroth continued, impassive again, as though nothing of interest had been said in the previous minutes.

The man could feel the anger gnawing relentlessly at his insides, alight like flame, but he kept it all locked away, just as he repelled thoughts of Genesis. He would not allow his feelings mastery over him, no, that would make him just as weak as everyone else, and would negate all of the time and effort and pain it had taken for him to learn to detatch. It would mean that all of those incidents with Jade would have been for nothing, all that suffering for no purpose.

Yes, he would feel things, it was impossible not to. But even so, all of that striving, it had impacted just _how_ much he felt. If it was not there, that coldness, he would not have survived.

He was what he was for a reason. He did not necessarily believe in fate, but his personality and coldness had always served him well, and would continue to do so, if his future was to be anything like his past.

* * *

"I don't like the cold, Angeal," the Second said, in an attempt to lighten the mood.

The older SOLDIER let out a delayed sigh. "I'm well aware."

"It's gotta be zero degrees here," the Second complained, emphasizing the puff of his breath that was fully visible due to the freezing temperatures.

Zack had donned a large army coat to cover over his bare arms, and toyed with a heating pack in his pocket, rubbing it to get the granules to warm. The Commander was wearing a coat as well, the Buster Sword still a heavy presence across his back.

Genesis had been spotted in the town, Icicle Inn, about a day previous by one of the Shinra guard discreetly vacationing there. The redhead had been reportedly seen walking down the streets, before disappearing into one of the houses. He had later taken a room at the Inn, which was confirmed by innkeeper himself.

The First was not even trying to cover his tracks in the slightest, going on with business as usual as though he hadn't attacked SOLDIER's most esteemed member then deserted. Even his phone had been found in a dumpster in Midgar, apparently abandoned.

As for why he was in Icicle Inn, it could only be speculated. Little control was exerted over the area by Shinra, so guards were not stationed and SOLDIER itself did not make any appearances there whatsoever.

"It's twenty degrees," Angeal replied, though his usual hidden amusement was missing. "Not including wind-chill," he added, to placate his student somewhat.

The Second mumbled something under his breath, staring down at the trails of footprints through the white powder. His neck and ears were cold, the stiff breeze sending icy snowflakes flying into his face where it clung to his coat and hair. It was a far cry from the hundred degree weather of Midgar, that was for sure. His body seemed to be in a bit of a shock over the drastic change.

The streets were blanketed in snow, the small cottages looking welcoming from the chilled street, due to the yellowish glows that emanated from their tiny windows. Smoke rose up in wisps from seemingly every structure, adding the pungent scent of fire to the dry air. Zack could feel his lips getting chapped, and knew his cheeks were probably flushed, though they had not been outside long.

The houses and stores were neatly lined up, the latter being more toward the start of the town, then fading out into the pleasant winter houses. The whole place had a very calming, relaxed feel to it, one that was furthered by the occasional citizens or tourists moving across one of the streets, bundled in down jackets, scarves, and tall, fur-lined snow boots.

Angeal, though he had the pretense of normality, was troubled. His expression changed to stormy at times, particularly on the long flight by helicopter, one that had taken several hours. He had barely been able to speak to Sephiroth at all, though he had questioned him as to what had gone on during the confrontation with their mutual friend.

The General had revealed almost nothing, which wasn't surprising. Angeal knew it was not his place to get involved yet again in another of his friends' arguments. He knew he had overstepped his bounds in their relationship before, and though the situation was a very serious one, he had still not pressed Sephiroth for the answers he wanted. Somehow that just wouldn't have been fair to the man, something that kept Angeal from forcing out the truth, which he knew his friend would have eventually told him had he continually requested it. Sephiroth rarely voiced his personal feelings to anyone, even him, but he was at least comfortable enough to share some things.

And Genesis. He was unpredictable. It was hard for the Commander to believe that his friend had tried to hurt Sephiroth, perhaps even kill him, and Vincent too, from the look of things. But the way he had been behaving lately, it made him believe it, and the fact that he had seen part of the fight with his own eyes just added to that confirmation.

"Is that it?" Zack questioned his mentor, repressing a shiver as they looked up at one of the larger structures.

There was a sign out front that proclaimed 'Inn'. The Second wasn't sure if it was the only one in the town, as he had completely forgotten to check out the layout on one of the many maps back at the base. It was bad planning on his part, but he shrugged it off, not one to fret over minor details.

Angeal gave a quick nod. He had the impression that his friend would already know that they had arrived.


	48. Hidden, But in the Open

A/N: I am terribly sorry for the delay; it was completely unintentional, given that I was gone, without computer or warning ahead of time *sigh* Thanks to everyone who reviewed! That would be: El Datil, kiralover44, whatevergirl, OvenBased, ink, CaseyAnn'sPrecious, KT, NicotineGum, and -CNFB- ! I also feel the need to mention, since I just realized it the other day.... I am almost certain I have never read a Sephiroth/Vincent story, but yet...I'm writing one. I know, it's a crime. o.O

* * *

Vincent let out a sigh of frustration, as he found his golden claws hitting nothing but air. Not that he wanted to harm Sephiroth, but it would have been encouraging to at least shred a bit of leather.... Then again, he figured he might have been hoping for too much so early on; he still barely knew what it felt like to be Chaos, let alone use it with skill and grace. A few weeks at the beach in no way made him an expert.

He hadn't had time to keep track of just how many times he was hurtled into the dirt by that irritatingly long sword, or struck in the chest with a wayward fist. All he knew was that there were darker streaks of brown in each spot that he had dug into in an attempt to stop himself from tumbling over the none to soft ground. His wings were durable, but they had a fragility to them that he did not want to test by racking them over rock-imbedded dirt, which was why he was probably more cautious than his mentor would have liked.

The last straw was when he was thrown into the pond, landing with a tremendous splash right in the center of the mucky, smelly water. There was a distinct green tinge to it when he was actually underneath the surface, and he could see the silver shine of tiny fish as they darted underneath sunken sticks and other debris in order to avoid him, the intruder in their little aquatic world.

He released some precious air from his lungs, noting how he almost didn't feel as though he _needed_ to breathe. Vincent blinked, curling the gauntlet-covered hand in front of his vision. He was grateful that the metal seemed incapable of getting rusted.

After a moment, he propelled himself to the surface, using his wings to push him upward (which he found was quite effective; Chaos was an incredibly fast swimmer). When he broke through that watery glass, shaking his crested head, he could feel the slimy coating to his skin, the way it had slicked his gauntlet. The smell of it was all over him, he knew, and not at all pleasant. He smelt almost of sewage.

He dove back down an instant later, ignoring the disgust he felt, and flicking his wings like paddles as he swam a foot below the surface. Just making out the form of Sephiroth on the shore, he forced himself up out of the water without warning. The transition from water to air was difficult, but he was determined, and managed to beat the expansive wings quickly and harshly enough to get him out of the wet, unhealthy environment below.

Claws hit sword, as always, as beads of water streamed off of Vincent's body. He could feel the steady dripping, and almost laughed, when the movement of his arm sent the water flying into Sephiroth's face. The man paid it no heed though, always the professional assassin, instead taking the boy's moment of weakness and turning it on him. He hit the Third twice, once in the face with the blunt end of Masamune. In retaliation, Vincent took to the air in a flurry of bat-like wings, leaving his mentor to contemplate his next move.

He swooped upward before flying toward the man's back from high above, Sephiroth observing his every action intently. Vincent was trying to do exactly as the zuu had once done to him. Pulling his wings in, he went straight down without ceremony, hearing the steady 'whoosh' of the wind as it tried to misplace his attack. He still managed to throw himself into the General with enough force to knock someone out.

Unfortunately, as was usual with most of his clumsy assaults by air, they ended up in a tangle of wings and weapons, only a second before skidding directly into the pond. They had literally flown the last few feet, Vincent's wings somehow managing to keep them hovering, if only for an instant, before they crashed into the algae-green water.

From that moment on, it was a struggle to get free. All he could see were white bubbles and a veil of silver hair that curled and swayed in the water. The General had released him, though they were still stuck together, he quickly realized. A sensitive wing had somehow become ensnared in the buckles of the man's black trenchcoat. Vincent tried not to panic, though he wanted nothing more than to tear himself loose, even if it hurt. They had sunk down several feet because of the weight of Sephiroth's clothes and because of the stone-like quality of the carapace that covered over the Third's body like an armor.

The look Sephiroth gave him caused him to freeze in place, trustingly. There was the glint of a sword, then suddenly he could move again, though there was a distinct painfulness to that wing. He realized with a start, that something was imbedded in the soft membrane. A strong arm grabbed hold of him, forcing them both upward, not allowing him time to be concerned.

There was a huge inhalation of breath on the General's part. He coughed repeatedly, his breathing coming into rapid rasps as they were given a sky of dry air that smelled of grass. Vincent thought the man might have gotten the wind knocked out of him from being slammed into so hard. Sephiroth didn't take time to recover, instead towing them both toward the shore, swimming strongly even through the difficulty in breathing. When they neared the shoreline, the man released him, and they both walked up over the rocks onto the cracked dirt, which caked to the wetness of Sephiroth's boots.

It should have all been very funny, the neat hair of Sephiroth hanging in greenish-hued locks, desecrated in a film of algae, then the sopping wet clothes, but there was still that horrible breathing.

Sephiroth walked away from him, though not far.

"Are you alright?" Vincent asked worriedly, ignoring the pain in his wing. He came up behind his mentor, not sure if placing a hand on him comfortingly was a good idea or not. Instead he just stood there awkwardly.

There was another cough, a bit of water, as the man bent over, face reddening slightly. He gave a very brief nod, spitting up the last of the mucky water that he had swallowed. There were a few measured inhalations, sounding almost wet, as though there was still water in the man's lungs. A moment later he rose to his full height, clearing his scratchy throat. He still held Masamune in his left hand, though he didn't seem to notice for the moment. His breathing had returned to very quick, though he was fighting already to slow it down to a healthier pace.

"I'm sorry, I didn't..."

"Don't be sorry," Sephiroth said after a few seconds, his voice sounding almost gravelly. "Never apologize when you do something well."

Vincent couldn't help but smile a little, even in the situation.

The man cleared his throat again, gesturing the boy to come closer. The Third obeyed the silent request, not flinching as a wet glove grasped onto one of the flimsy-looking wings. There was a bit of painful tugging, but the silver buckle was removed, leaving behind a tiny tear. Sephiroth examined it for a moment, before finally releasing the straining wing.

The buckle in the General's hand was jagged on the end, broken open so that it had easily gone through the soft tissue of Chaos's wing.

"You are going to need to be a little more gentle," Sephiroth advised. "Though the plan of attack was quite effective," he mused, smiling slightly through his curtain of wet hair.

* * *

The Innkeeper looked them over critically from beneath curled grey brows. His face was almost hawkish, with a large pointed nose (not refined enough to be considered aquiline, as it was not only thin, but wide), and a balding head of wispy white hair that just stopped at his shoulders. His mood was about as welcoming as his appearance: sour with an undertone of pseudo-pleasantness, though he didn't slouch as much when he realized his two new guests were from SOLDIER.

"He has red hair," Zack supplied, after the innkeeper enquired about who they were searching for, yet again. They had already explained several times, to no avail.

The old man acted as if he was not the one that had confirmed that Genesis was staying in the building, meandering through the conversation with a gossipy but harsh quality that had quickly transformed Angeal's words into an almost rude curtness.

"Genesis Rhapsodos," the Commander repeated for about the third time since arriving. He didn't hide his annoyance.

"Yes, yes, I seem to recall now," the old man answered with an almost sarcastic cadence. There was a glint in his dark eyes, as if he knew something they did not.

"He has been here off and on. Not all day, of course. He's the younger sort you see." The innkeeper gave another sardonic smile, as though the fact that Genesis was young somehow explained everything. "He takes long walks through the streets, usually looks moody. He comes here for dinner some nights, though not all."

"Right," Angeal said, keeping his patience, though he was about on the edge of it. Current circumstances were severely altering his normally cool nature. "You wouldn't happen to know where he goes during the day, would you? Or maybe if he is here now?"

"Oh, no, Commander, I'm afraid he's gone right now, being that it not late for him yet. He won't be back for another four hours or so, I'm sure. And sometimes he doesn't even sleep here. Really, he might not even show at all."

"So you don't know where he goes?" the Second asserted. He was openly exasperated with how the old piece of fodder kept walking them in circles.

"He's around." The innkeeper seemed to wrinkle his nose at Zack, not even giving him much of a glance. "Like I said, walks the streets looking angry all of the time, like he has some retribution to dish out. He's arrogant, you see, likes to think he's better than everybody else. It doesn't help his situation any that he has been seen around with that Markham fellow."

"Markham?" Angeal questioned, calming a little when he realized they might just be getting somewhere. "You wouldn't happen to know where this Markham could possibly be found, or maybe his address?"

"He's an old codger. Used to till the soil with that woman, the one who died a few years ago. Can't be troubled to remember her name, I'm afraid," the innkeeper commented, his expression making it all too clear that he very well knew her name, but wanted to be pressed for it. "Anyway, nothing grows here. That flowershop went out a business six months after it opened. We don't have much use for flowers in this sort of weather, you see. Markham was quite devastated when she passed, still don't think he's gotten over it."

"The address," the Commander requested, withholding a sigh.

"He used to live—"

"A current one, please."

"There's no need to be rude now, son," the man said, with a look of disappointment and disapproval.

"Unfortunately, we are short on time," Angeal explained, forcing a placating smile from his lips. The action made him feel like Sephiroth.

"Oh, right. I see now. Well, I think he's on Mulberry. It's a few streets down from here, some lovely teashops along the way, and that old hag Mildred. Should be the forth or fifth house down; squat rundown little cottage, but that's where he lives."

"Thank you."

Both student and mentor turned away rather quickly, more than happy to leave the old man to his own devices.

"Damned kids," the innkeeper muttered to himself, as they opened the door to go out into the semi-darkness.

* * *

There was a freezing chill to the air as the sun fully disappeared under the horizon, snowflakes falling down in chaotic swirls onto the two SOLDIERs who were standing in front of Markham.

The man the innkeeper had sent them to looked over them with troubled brown eyes. His formerly brown hair was flecked with grey, kept short, stopping around his ears. He had a closely cropped beard as well, which added to the aura of wisdom about him. His face was heavily wrinkled, particularly the worry lines on his forehead, as though he had never lived a day without some sort of regret.

"Hello. I am Commander Angeal Hewley, from SOLDIER," Angeal addressed.

He offered his hand to the older gentleman, which was shaken lightly with an ancient, scarred hand. The hand felt almost fragile, which wasn't surprising given Markham's diminutive stature of just over five feet. He was overweight, though the distinct puffiness to his face suggested alcohol abuse, nothing to do with his eating habits. The bagginess under his weathered eyes attested to the theory of an alcohol as well.

"I know who you are," Markham assured, his eyes landing on the shorter SOLDIER, then returning to the Commander.

Angeal gave a nod of understanding, then continued: "I'm here on business, looking for a missing man. I've heard that he was seen with you."

"A man? You must mean Genesis Rhapsodos. Yes, he is here. But you will not be taking him anywhere." The voice was soft and calm, nothing about it seeming to mean harm, though what he had said was forceful enough.

"Would you at least allow me to speak with him? It is very important," the SOLDIER appealed.

"I'm sure he would like to talk with you, so I can't see why not."

The door which had been only slightly ajar behind the form of the older man, opened very suddenly, almost violently.

"Just get in, Angeal," Genesis growled, giving the Second beside his friend a very harsh rebuke with one halfhearted look.

The Commander let out a long, soundless sigh, taking in the appearance of the First. His blue eyes had no glow, almost dead in appearance, no lively sardonic sparkle to them. His hair was hanging limply around his face, stringy—something it never was. The earring was missing, while the coat had a tear at the shoulder that was soaked with dried, crusted blood. The black pauldrons were conspicuously absent too, revealing somewhat slumped shoulders, which resided on an obviously weary body.

"Zack is coming as well," he said shortly, not oblivious to the spite that was written on the redhead's face, clear as the blood on his sleeve.

"Fine," the First answered, giving a fake, placating smile that made Zack want to scowl.

It was without any more conversation that they were led into the tiny, cramped house. The smell of mako seemed to assault from every direction, making the Second sniff, ruffling his hair in discomfort with a brown-gloved hand.

Books were scattered everywhere, along with documents that looked to be the official sort. The front door led right into the dinning room, though it was more of a research area than anything else. Dirty dishes were on the tabletop as well, a reddish jam smeared across some of the papers from a piece of discarded, burnt toast. There was the scent of old food too, then alcohol, as they passed several empty bottles of whiskey and went even further into the dark little cottage.

It was hot, too much so. Zack considered removing his heavy jacket as they walked into the livingroom. Two decade-old sofas were arranged around a small television set which had several dusty spheres resting on top, covered in fingerprints.

"Have a seat," Markham said with a sad smile.

Genesis was the first to land roughly on a couch, though he seemed to regret it as he let out a ragged breath and nearly reached for his arm. He stopped himself though, letting his steely gaze follow the two SOLDIERs as they sat down across from him.

Once Markham had settled himself beside Genesis, the Commander began to speak, needing to say what had been on his mind for days. "Genesis, I need to know what is going on."

The First seemed to laugh to himself, gloved hand picking at the tattered bits of his sleeve. His expression had turned to a mock amusement, one that seemed for too bitter, even for him.

There was a long delay before he pulled himself from his internal monologue. "I would think that is my business, not yours." He smiled sarcastically. "I don't plan to return, if that's what you would like to know."

Zack was watching his mentor, who was visibly stricken. "I want to help. You know that I would always help you if you needed it. I don't know why you chose to attack Sephiroth; it's not you. There is something going on. I'm not going to just blame you, I'm going to give you a chance to explain it to me, rationally."

Angeal was hesitant to speak so openly in front of a man he didn't know, as well as so candidly in front of Zack, who had little knowledge of just how deep his friendship with the First ran. But there seemed to be no helping it, though he would be refraining from saying too much until he had the opportunity to get to Genesis on his own. He would figure out something.

Genesis didn't show that he was touched by the sentiment, instead answering in almost a snarl: "There's nothing wrong with you, Angeal, so you can forget this mission and go on back to SOLDIER with your student. I think I can handle myself just fine without your meddling."

Angeal shook his head, thinking over those words. "Something set you off, what was it? What is wrong with you? Is that what it is? Has something gone wrong with the mako?"

The First's jaw clenched, the vein in his temple standing out, though his red hair concealed it well enough. "I'm not talking about it in front of your _friend_," he responded bitingly, eyes never leaving Zack.

"But you will speak in front of Markham?"

Zack was staying quiet, though he was positively glaring at the redhead adjacent them.

"He's a part of this Angeal, _Fair_ is not."

Angeal's eyes darted over the carpet as he weighed his options. It didn't take but a few quiet seconds. "Zack, can you please arrange for us to stay at the inn?" He did not glance at his student, too focused on his friend who only continued to stare hatefully.

"Angeal—"

"Go on," the Commander said more sternly, finally looking away from Genesis. "I need to talk to him first. Come back in a few hours, alright?"

"But this is..." the argument died in his throat as he saw the expression on his mentor's face.

There was almost a pleading there, one that he had never seen before or thought the larger man was capable of.

It was supposed to be a joint mission, but he realized he probably wasn't even needed. He was likely just sent as backup in case something went wrong. He didn't like to be nothing but a tag-along, however, he knew that if his mentor wanted to talk later, at least he would be there. With a sigh of disappointment, he got up from the couch, giving a dark look to Genesis. He didn't see why Angeal even bothered to be friends with someone so full of hate and so damned moody.

He tried not to be too distracting as he walked slowly away from all of them, torn because he wanted to stay and at least be near Angeal, but at the same time, wanting to get away from the vengeful First.

It wasn't until the Seconds footsteps completely died away, and the front door closed, that anyone bothered to speak.

"First, I think you should know who I am," Markham stated through the silence.

The Commander's brow furrowed, but he said nothing, allowing the man to continue at his own leisure.

"Genesis came to me for assistance. Here, in Icicle Inn, I am nothing but an eccentric old man. The citizens know that I like to dabble in things, particularly mako, which is why I chose to stay in this location after...well. Anyway, as I said, he came to me for help, because I am not just a researcher. I used to be a full-fledged scientist, which I will get to later."

Genesis almost snorted, crossing his arms over his chest, though that made the slashes burn as the skin was stretched. He could feel a bit of blood trickling down his arm underneath the thick material of his satin-lined leather coat.

"Something went wrong with the mako..." Angeal said again, this time his face clouding over with worry. "...and Hollander couldn't repair it."

"Not quite. I'm afraid it is a little more dire than that. But all will be explained in due time. I'm going to do everything I can to find a solution, I assure you."

"Tell him who you are," Genesis ordered impatiently, tired of the rambling.

"Right. My real name is Gast, Gast Faremis. I worked with Hollander and Hojo on the original Jenova Project."

* * *

A/N: I have no idea what Gast is like, unfortunately, I'm merely guessing. So if he is extremely OOC this chapter, don't hesitate to tell me, though of course take into account that he has been on his own for years, mulling over his past.


	49. Telltale Signs

A/N: Almost to chapter 50! Those of you reviewed, thank you very much :D I hope you don't hate me too much for this chapter. Thanks to: NicotineGum, OvenBased, kiralover44, whatevergirl, KT, CaseyAnn'sPrecious, and BeeJang ! Hopefully the next one will be more uplifting, though I can't make any promises....

* * *

Angeal sat in silence, listening to the grandfatherly voice of the older man as he began to explain the Jenova Project in detail, requiring no more prompting from Genesis. His weathered hands moved often as he spoke, as though he was directing the entire scene.

"We thought she was a Cetra," Gast said, "this one we codenamed Jenova. From the start all we wanted was to create more of them, more Cetra. I admit that I was fascinated by them—I studied them for years before being approached by Shinra to be involved in the project. It wasn't what it seemed. Jenova was not a Cetra, but something dark with even darker intent.

"Hojo and Hollander, though I had heard of their skill, turned out to be completely void of morality. It was only later that I fully realized the extent of what I had helped create, the evilness behind it all, particularly the being, Jenova."

The Commander was watching his friend, who continued to pick at the dried blood on his coat with the pretense of being bored, though it was obvious from the twitch of a booted foot, which was crossed over one knee, that he was feeling many different things, none of them boredom.

The scientist continued: "I was against human testing. But Hojo and Hollander were insistent. I discovered later their intentions: to create superior SOLDIER for Shinra, which was encouraging the project and following it all very avidly. I had no say in what was done, I just assisted, adding my knowledge to the experiments. I did not protest, because at the time, I think I secretly wanted to know what this child would be—or I should say what the _children _would be. I regret it all, I have...hated myself for it all this time. Keeping quiet about something I did that was so incredibly wrong. I had a hand in it, and I take full responsibility for my own foolishness and gullibility."

"I think I see where this is going," Angeal said solemnly, his breathing already becoming uneven as he carefully observed the hateful look that had passed over the First's face, marring it in telltale lines.

"You and Genesis, you are both products of the experiment, which was later termed Project G," Gast stated gently.

The older man's eyes were kind, caring even, his wrinkled face turning saddened as he gauged the Commander's reaction. He hated to not reveal the entire truth, but he would do so later if it was necessary. Sephiroth had nothing to do with it for the time being, and Gast preferred to leave the General out of it. He had little idea as to how the man would react to him if they saw each other once again.

The scientist considered him to be his biggest regret, and he was ashamed at having left him behind to such a monster as Hojo to be raised in a cold, unforgiving lab like some sort of test animal. It was his own fault, he knew, and he would not ever blame Sephiroth if he held a grudge.

"What do you mean?" Angeal questioned in disbelief, gloved fists balling up at his sides, shoulders a rigid expanse of strained muscle beneath his uniform and plain black pauldrons.

He knew exactly what Gast meant, he was simply unable to fully appreciate what how it effected him. He did not instantly accept what had been said, after all, he had parents who loved him. He had no remembrance of labs as a child, or of ever feeling different from anyone else. He would have felt different, or at least, he suspected he would have.

"I mean that both you and Genesis have foreign, alien DNA present in your genes," the man answered bluntly, unsure of how to say it any other way.

Angeal leaned forward, arms resting across his knees, as he stared down at the worn brown carpeting, stained all over from years of use.

Gast kept speaking, though it was much more quickly, as he finally freed himself of the years of secrets that had eaten away at his soul, making him feel like something of a monster. "Project G was Hollander's domain. It was a side experiment of the original Jenova Project. The 'G' stands for Gillian. It was named after your mother, as she had been an open endorser of the project. She was where we retrieved the original cells from, the ones tainted by Jenova. She was injected first, then her cells were taken and used on Genesis. You were born of her womb, and therefore naturally received her mutated genes."

The Commander was staring down at the floor, still not making much of an acknowledgment of anything, though he certainly was on the inside.

"It is because of those cells that Genesis is now beginning to slowly degrade," the scientist explained sadly.

Angeal looked up, confusion penetrating through the disbelief. "Degrading. You mean he is dying?"

"Unfortunately, yes. That is why he is here. But with you, there may be hope."

The Commander was visibly stricken. He wanted to console Genesis, but his mind was reeling with all that had been said. It wasn't something he could just openly accept then move on; it changed...everything.

How could his mother consent to something so terrible? How could she raise him knowing she jeopardized him and anyone else who came into contact with her cells by way of experimentation? And Shinra...Shinra was to blame for it all.

"Why the degradation? I though the cells were supposed to improve us, or is it just another unforeseen side effect?" the Commander asked, letting the anger he felt seep into his tone.

Gast looked troubled. "We did not know that it would happen. The human testing was the first time the cells had ever been used on anything." The scientist emanated regret, his hands wringing each other in his lap unconsciously. "But this side effect does not seem to have touched you. That's why we might be able to do something about all of this."

Angeal sighed, thinking. "You mean use my cells to fix Genesis." Everything was muddled, confusing. He tried to grab at sense through the haziness, though it seemed as though there were far too many things to contemplate, and all almost unbelievable.

"Yes, if you consent."

"Of course I consent," he responded, looking across to his friend, who seemed somewhat surprised by the proclamation. "I take it this was why you attacked Sephiroth? You were upset?"

"It was more than that," Genesis stated lowly, hatefully. "But yes, I had just received news from Hollander."

The Commander nodded halfheartedly, trying to gain focus. Genesis was impetuous, therefore his actions toward their mutual friend weren't exactly a shock. Even so, it had been a very dangerous and thoughtless thing to do. He still did not know what else had brought about the attack, though he was sure it was connected to the feud that had been going on between the two for years. He knew it was a rivalry, one he had always hated. It had undermined an otherwise stable friendship.

"How can we repair this? What are the chances of it working?" Angeal enquired, directing his words to Gast.

"I'm not sure if it will have any effect," the scientist answered truthfully. "I have never attempted anything like this. I have been trying to learn about the degradation through Genesis, and I have my guesses on how to treat it, though again, nothing is certain. It could be a complete failure, and we must all prepare ourselves for that outcome."

Genesis let out a hiss of a breath, expression angry, yet determined. "Hollander did not believe he could repair the damage the cells have done to me already. There isn't much chance," he stated bitterly, eyes darkening as he looked over at the older man beside him.

"No, Genesis. There may be," the Commander argued. "We can't know until it's tried."

The First scoffed, arms crossed tightly over his chest. "Oh, don't get me wrong. I will live until there is nothing left in this body to continue breathing. It is relying on the people that did this to me in the first place that makes me doubt."

* * *

The grotesque film of the pond water wasn't gone, only mingling with sweat hours later, further penetrating skin and clothes. Sephiroth's hair appeared to be parted in tendrils, each stiff and looking rather filthy, though it was Vincent who ended up the most dirty of the two, his hair in a similar state to the General's, along with all the powder-like dirt that clung to his clothes from having been knocked to the ground so many times.

They had resorted to typical combat for awhile, using the open space and lack of regulations or observation to do so more roughly than usual. The Third felt sore all over, knowing that there would at least be bruises for a short while.

He practiced with Cerberus for a time as well, feeling as though he was holding a canon instead of a revolver. Just the same, there was a sense of power it allotted him that made him feel almost...secure. He couldn't use it well, at least not at a long distance, but he was glad to have the time to brush up on it a little. He went through the boxes of ammo Sephiroth had brought, before he finally wondered just what time it was, and how much longer they were going to stay. Not that he wanted to leave, but it was starting to get considerably darker, the sky taking on the orange hue of sunset.

Sephiroth's eyes were examining the sky as well, the strange slits narrowing from the vague brightness of it.

"Can I ask you another question?" Vincent requested softly. His fingers were tracing along the cruel looking dog-like beasts that trailed over the three barrels of Cerberus, though his gaze rested on his mentor.

There was an almost indiscernible nod of acquiescence, though the green eyes stated it all, regardless.

"You're..." the Third searched for the proper word, wanting to be eloquent instead of falling into the fumbling speech he seemed so prone to around the man. He also didn't want to offend him. "...different. Than the other SOLDIERs, I mean."

The man smiled a ghost of a smile, head tilting downward so that he could see the bugs flicking across the grass."Yes," the man replied simply. The Third looked a little disappointed by the answer, frowning slightly, so the General elaborated, though he truly wasn't in a mood to speak. "I have never known why, only that I have always been. There need be no explanation; I do not require one. Some things are meant to be concealed, for whatever reasons."

Sephiroth reflected on his own confession, knowing that it was not the entire truth. He too had the same questions, but he knew that whatever answers there were had been lost to Hojo. Even the destroyed laptop had proved unfruitful. He had virtually given up attempting to discover anything, falling upon the familiar conclusion, that in a way, there was no point in digging up his origins. What was done was done, or so he kept repeating to himself, a silent, almost desperate mantra to the little boy within that felt that he _must_ know. Yes, it was all something to forget about.

"I have documents that you might be interested in reading," he commented, drawing away from the previous conversation none to subtly. He did not care if the boy chose to protest the diversion; he refused to say any more about his...differences.

"What do you mean?" Vincent asked.

The Third didn't like that he hadn't really gotten an answer, and for a moment he thought that maybe Sephiroth didn't really have one. The man seemed to show his own questioning outwardly by _not_ wanting to talk about it. Or maybe he was just reading into things far too much.

"While in the labs I came across some reports about your father, Grimoire was his name, yes?"

"Something about my dad?"

The boy was genuinely surprised, unconsciously walking a few steps closer. His last inhalation of breath had stopped before it had been able to exit his throat. Thoughts of Sephiroth spun away from him, as thoughts of his father surfaced to drown them out.

Another nod. "I would have given them to you sooner, but I confess I have been waiting for a more _proper_ time to present them to you. I do not know what you know, though I would guess that some of it would be new to you."

"Why would you keep that from me?" the Third enquired, his expression getting stormy behind his lank black hair.

Grimoire? When was the last time he had even heard his father's name? The fact that Sephiroth had kept something hidden from him made his gut twist and writhe painfully. Chaos laughed an insane laugh that echoed through his head, in that voice that wasn't quite his own. That in and of itself was unsettling, as he tried to reign in the strong emotions that kept rising up in his chest.

"Vincent," the General addressed, finally making full eye contact. "They are very disturbing."

"But it's my father, I should know," he said quietly, assertively, as he did not falter in meeting the emerald eyes.

Unexpectedly, a gloved hand gently landed on one of his shoulders, gripping it, though it was done so lightly that it almost wasn't noticeable except for the warm body heat that emanated through the leather.

"I know; it is your right. But given the circumstances, I think you will at least see that it may not have been the most ideal time. They are serious, the reports, and graphic. It will hurt you to read them, and that was not another burden you needed at the time."

Vincent sighed, almost in frustration, though he understood. Just another way the man was trying to protect him, always in that almost inhuman way of his. The General's intentions, as usual, were good, and for that, the Third could not fault him.

He nodded reluctantly to show he understood. "What did they say?"

"It would be better for you if you were to read them for yourself," Sephiroth advised flatly, looking away.

"Can I see them when we get back?"

"Yes." Again, it was a monotonous inflection, as if spoken from a machine rather than something living and breathing with actual feelings inside. That made Vincent cringe a little, the voice almost grating because it was so insensitive.

Green watched him for a moment, almost curiously, though they were ever guarded, vigilant to revealing too much.

"You wish that I would speak openly to you," Sephiroth observed, that slight smile present again, though this time it wasn't as well meant; it was darker.

"I wish you wouldn't feel like you have to hide everything," the Third corrected, sounding somber.

There was the 'hmm' sound, though it was done almost in amusement. "We keep having this conversation."

"Because you keep doing it—hiding everything. I'm not going to try and use it against you, haven't you figured that out yet? I thought I was making it pretty clear."

The hurt look made the General's smile broaden, as he let out a quiet laugh.

"Don't laugh," the boy said, this time with an edge of anger to his words. "Sometimes I think that you don't even..." He couldn't finish what he was going to say, propriety stopping him.

"'...don't even'," the man prompted, taking a step closer so that Vincent could see the glint in his eyes.

"...trust me," he finished lamely, hating how stupid it sounded.

Was he that desperate for acceptance, validation, from the damned murderer in front of him? But he was more than that, wasn't he? More than just a General, more than just a man with secrets. Really, the sad truth was, Sephiroth was the only person who had even shown a mild interest in him when he didn't include Zack or Angeal. The only person who ever saw him at his absolute worst, losing his temper or being caught in a position of weakness (he could think of several, including one that brought on very different sort of thoughts) and still not abandoning him. He had a lot of reasons to hate him, but those were all blotted out by the caring beneath, even if it wasn't always easy to see.

"I don't trust anyone. Why should you be any different?" Sephiroth said in nearly a growl, his countenance flashing to a hostile stiffness that the Third hadn't expected.

The amusement had drained away, leaving behind the man with a soul that had been replaced by a sword. There was no playfulness about him, no kindness, just cold, calculating eyes that were analyzing him instead of appreciating him. The transformation happened so quickly, that the Third was almost caught off guard.

"Well, maybe if you put at least some trust in people they wouldn't see you as such a cold, heartless asshole all of the time," Vincent countered, feeling his own anger flair with a life all its own. "There is nothing wrong with being cautious, Sephiroth, but there is something wrong with being nothing but a shell. I don't trust people either, but I trust you, even if half the time I can't decide if you like me or hate me."

He almost couldn't believe his own boldness. Calling the man an asshole to his face had never exactly been something he planned to do. But he was angry, and Chaos was in on it, goading him and riling him further.

The hand that grabbed him by the throat made his eyes widen. The words came out in a deadly hiss, green eyes swirling with too many things for him to figure out what any of it meant; they couldn't be separated. But they were dark, so incredibly so, which was telling. "I am not going to stand here and listen to your nonsense."

Their stares were intent on one another, maroon eyes filling with the black of the pupils as they expanded. Without warning, the hand relinquished him just as quickly as it had come, leaving behind white marks that swiftly darkened to red.

The emerald eyes suddenly looked troubled, the anger less ignited, down to a flicker in a matter of seconds. It was as though the man had switched personalities.

"I am sorry," he apologized, taking a step back. His eyes were darting around in thought, before settling on the young SOLDIER.

Vincent's hand had traveled to his throat, and he let out a cough, massaging the part the man had squeezed so forcefully that he had felt his airway close off for a moment.

"I am not in my right mind. I think it is time we leave," Sephiroth said suddenly, eyes staring at the red circular imprints he's left on the vulnerable, pale neck.

The Third only nodded almost fearfully, almost unable to process what had just happened. His mentor had never given him that look before. It frightened him, how different it had been, so foreign, even in the face of all of the coldness he had seen come from the man.

A question reverberated through his head, horrible and scarring.

Had Sephiroth wanted to hurt him?

* * *

A/N: I wanted to sort of give a big hint that Sephiroth isn't taking Genesis's departure so well, in case you were considering hurting me :D


	50. If Only

A/N: Chapter 50! I had the worst writer's block this chapter, so there may be choppiness or less detail, etc. Anyway, as you know, and I keep saying, oh praise the reviewers! Thanks to: Marezuls, KT, BeeJang, whatevergirl, Chicken Nova, Ray of Starlight, NicotineGum, kiralover44, CaseyAnn'sPrecious, Uzumaki-Noroi, and Risikaa !

* * *

"I'm not going to leave Zack," Angeal asserted in frustration, having reached the absolute end of his tolerance. "I wouldn't abandon you, and I won't do that to him either," he finished, catching that dark gaze of Genesis.

It was late, too late. It was black outside, the moon obscured entirely by clouds. They were in the lower level of Gast's home, which was chilled and musty smelling. The older man had taken some samples from the Commander, then stared into a microscope for several hours, taking notes and just observing the cells. He'd gone to bed around 1:00 in the morning, too exhausted to continue, while the two friends continued to talk, their conversation quickly developing into a full-fledged argument as Angeal attempted to get answers.

Stubbornly, Genesis did not want Zack to stay. He had already asked his friend to remain behind at least until they could get a handle on the problem, if it was possible. Angeal was angry enough about everything that he did want to abandon SOLDIER, which he knew was the redhead's real request, albeit it was buried under the guise of everything else, like a dirty secret. He couldn't believe what Shinra had done. He knew that they did human testing, of course, but he had never known that it was to such an extent. It made Hojo's experiments seem downright pleasant. It was against everything he believed in.

"I know you want me to leave Shinra, Genesis, but I won't do it, not yet anyway," the Commander continued. "What about Sephiroth? Are you just going to forget about him?"

Genesis's blue eyes shifted into fury. "Fuck Sephiroth! I couldn't care _any_ less what befalls him. Let him stay behind and play General, but I will not do it." The last part had come out in a snarl, white teeth bared in rage.

The disheveled red hair was torn through with angry fingers, as the First tried to gain control of himself.

"I want to know what went on. You need to be honest with me," Angeal said quietly, trying to take the tone of the conversation down a few notches. "Why do you hate him? I know about your fights, but it has to be more than petty squabbling. Don't tell me you're willing to give up years of friendship for a stupid competition." The Commander's inflection suggested he was trying to be stern, but the worry that was written on his face made his words less so. They were the questions of a concerned friend.

"How can you stand in his shadow and not find it aggravating?" Genesis questioned angrily. "Everything I do is overshadowed by what _he_ has done. And he's arrogant and smug, you can't deny that. There is nothing about him that is redeeming Angeal, he's apathetic to everyone but himself. It's pointless to expect anything from him, friendship included." There was a long silence in which the two friends only watched on another, the Commander looking almost sad, the redhead determined and infuriated. "You're a fool if you think differently," he added.

"You're wrong." It was said almost in defeat, but Angeal believed his own words. He just knew that the chance of changing his friend's opinion was next to nothing; the redhead was stubborn and opinionated.

"How can you be that blind?" The First walked a few paces closer to the other man, blue eyes steady and steely.

"How can you be so cruel?" the Commander countered in complete seriousness. "You attack Sephiroth because you are jealous of him or angry at him? I want to think good of you, but how can I when you do things like this? I know that you are not the only one to blame—Sephiroth is a huge part of it, and just as much at fault—but goddamnit Genesis, let it go. You're not petty like this, I know you're not."

"I'm not jealous!" Genesis fumed. "If you knew...." He stopped himself.

For some reason Sephiroth's secretiveness about their relationship had completely rubbed off on him. In a way, he didn't want Angeal to know. After all, what would the man say? He didn't seem to have any idea that his two best friends went off into Midgar for cheap thrills some nights, or even on base, searching for some blank-faced hero-worshiping Third. They both did it, and they both knew the other did the same thing, like an unspoken filthy little lie they shared. Even at the worst of their arguments, neither had ever stooped so low as to reveal the truth.

Angeal always tried to ask them things offhandedly, and he had always lied. He was fairly certain that his friend had given up even asking Sephiroth; it was believable that the man was completely uninterested in sex—he covered his tracks better than anyone. It shouldn't have felt so wrong, but it did. Angeal's sense of honor, honesty...their actions went entirely against that dogma. It seemed like neither he or Sephiroth wanted to disappoint their friend, even if that meant constantly lying about where they went and who they saw.

"Forget it. You would not understand it," Genesis stated, eyes still ablaze, even in the low light of the room.

"I want to understand. I care about you both."

"If you care so much, then stop asking for answers when I have already explained!" the First said in exasperation, unsure of how to get away from the conversation without having to shout.

"I won't leave them, Genesis, but I _will_ help you. After that, we will just have to see," the Commander stated, arms crossed over his chest as he leaned into the counter behind him.

"You're not telling me you would continue working for those people...."

"I will until I get things arranged. I can't just uproot everything I've ever known without warning." Angeal let out a loud exhalation. "But I will leave. I refuse to be a part of this any more when they knew all along what was done."

"When?"

"When I tell Sephiroth, when I figure out what to tell Zack. For now we will stay here until Gast figures something out. And if he can't...." He paused, looking troubled. "...we'll go to Hollander."

* * *

The drive back had been quiet, and utterly void of conversation. Sephiroth merely stared at the road as he cut his own path over it, never once glancing at the passenger in the seat next to him.

Vincent only looked over occasionally, still mulling over what had occurred earlier, mood stormy. He wasn't even sure what the reaction had meant, wondering if it was stress, or if he had genuinely infuriated the man. He wasn't apologetic; he said what needed to be said, however, that didn't prevent him from feeling strange about it.

It had definitely felt like Sephiroth had intended to harm him. That made him angry in a sense, that what he said had caused the General to retaliate violently rather than using words like anyone else would. It was as though the man thought he had the right, that he could do whatever it was he pleased without repercussion. Then again, he had noticed that a lot of what the man did could be termed 'childish'. His mentor dealt with things bluntly sometimes, then other times it was all complication and indiscernible motive. He was, by all accounts, more unpredictable than the weather.

Vincent was also thinking about the reports Sephiroth had mentioned, the ones regarding his father. He wanted to know what they contained, but knew it would probably be a few days before he found out anything. He wasn't exactly in the state of mind to ask the man for them.

When they got out of the Jeep, the Third had barely noticed. It seemed as though they had simply appeared on the base, as he hardly even recalled going past the numerous posts for the second time.

It was dark and late, but still hot out, to the point of being muggy. The stars, as always, couldn't shine through the lights of the nearby city, making the sky appear as though it was blanketed in an inky, blueish-black haze.

Without the wind from the open window, he was suddenly all too aware of how much he smelled. It was not pleasant, and he guessed that the General had a similar problem. The caked dirt flaked off of his clothing as he grabbed his things from the back seat, Sephiroth standing behind him almost ominously.

"I apologize," the General said through the eerie silence.

The Third looked over his shoulder at the man, trying not to scowl. "So is that how you deal with people who say things you don't agree with?" he asked bitterly, clumsily trying to get a handle on Cerberus.

Sephiroth actually smiled. "I would, if I believed it would be effective."

Vincent glowered at the back seat as he gathered the remainder of his things. When he had it all in his arms, he shut the door a little too harshly with a booted foot, not even looking up at his mentor from underneath his matted black hair. He wanted to get away from Sephiroth, and he wanted a shower so that he could think.

When he tried to walk away from the vehicle, Sephiroth stood in front of him, blocking his path. He was wearing that characteristic vacant expression that made Vincent's anger well up exponentially.

"I'm not a pushover," the Third advised lowly, dangerously.

"No, you are not. That is why I spend so much time on you."

Again, he tried to go around, ignoring the compliment in favor of the anger inside that was still not the least bit placated by the admission. This time, a black-gloved hand caught him by the shoulder, the green eyes glinting from the few sparse lights nearby them, like cat eyes. For some reason, he was instantly reminded of Genesis. He tried to shrug the hand away.

"You need a shower," Sephiroth commented. "But I would like to give you the documents first."

He frowned, no longer trying to move away. "Right now?"

"If you want them." It was almost a taunt, expression just the tiniest bit...something. Vincent wasn't sure what it meant, not exactly.

* * *

It wasn't without a little trepidation and determination that he followed the man up to his apartment. He was too apprehensive about whatever the papers said, that he was willing to ignore his own mood and confusion for the time being.

The halls were empty in the building, all the Firsts either in their rooms or elsewhere, likely somewhere in Midgar, or maybe there was just no one else on Sephiroth's floor, he wasn't entirely sure. The latter assumption proved to be correct. There were nothing but maintenance rooms and a few other doors with the words 'vacant' in the slots where their numbers should have been.

They had gone through some sort of back entrance, completely bypassing the front desk after a few slips of a cardkey. No one had been around, not even a janitor the way they went. It was nothing but hall after hall, and stairwell after stairwell.

Sephiroth's door was marked "1408". They entered without ceremony, the General flicking on a light switch as they moved into the near-empty space. There was a small television, one that looked completely untouched, besides the regular livingroom furniture. The place had a dark quality to it that was only extenuated by the black drapes that had been pulled over the blinds.

"Sit," the man ordered.

Vincent would have liked to have just taken the reports and gone back to his dorms, but part of him wondered if his mentor had something to say. He slowly made his way over to the couch, the man disappearing into one of the nearby rooms.

He didn't really want to sit on the furniture, given how filthy he was, but he didn't want to argue either when Sephiroth had papers that he needed. He placed all of his things on the coffee table, noting the strange contrast of Cerberus to his pale hands.

It always seemed like he got placed in positions with the General where he simply had to wait, take no action so that things could progress however the man saw fit. But then again, he wasn't completely confident that he could play the board as his mentor did; it took a lot of skill, which he acknowledged, but even so, he did not like it when it was used against him, when he was nothing but the pawn, and Sephiroth the one in control of his fate. At the same time, that was what SOLDIER was about, placing your faith in a superior and hoping that they knew what they were doing. He could still question it, however.

A moment later, the man appeared with a thick manilla folder in one of his hands, the papers neatly stacked inside of it, though it was nearly overflowing. He handed it to him with a bit of a warning look in his face, as though to prepare him.

It read "Project V" on the outside, which surprised Vincent. It was visibly old, the edges tattered and bent, while the color of it was quite dulled from time.

"The V stands for Valentine," Sephiroth explained, sitting down next to the Third lightly.

His expression was unreadable, though he was watching the boy next to him with an intentness that made the Third look up on instinct.

"This is really bad, isn't it?" Vincent asked nervously, tracing his hands over the outside of the folder.

He was getting a sinking feeling that was beginning to outweigh the residual anger, as he realized there was something incredibly wrong. The way the General was looking at him, staring, had him unsettled. He opened it the folder, swallowing in reflex.

Sephiroth sat beside him quietly, observing the maroon eyes that darted over the paper for several minutes, clearly rereading some of the lines in confirmation. The worried countenance shifted into something slightly different, the frown line deepening the further the boy scanned down the page. The fingers began to clench at the reports, knuckles whitening. There was a distinct glassiness to his eyes suddenly, as his face filled with lines.

When he flipped the text over, there was a scattering of pictures stacked underneath, which he grasped at with fumbling fingers. His breathing quickened, jaw tightening visibly underneath his dirty black hair. He stared at each photo for a long time.

"Is this...real?" he whispered, mostly to himself, blinking rapidly as he burned each picture into his memory.

"Yes," Sephiroth affirmed, feeling the prickling of something unpleasant pass over his face. He could feel his silver hair sticking to his face, stiff and coarse from the water in the pond.

There were the sounds of rustling papers as Vincent searched through the rest of the reports, reading as quickly as he was able, the pictures still held tightly in his right hand. It took many minutes, but the more the Third read, the more his fists began to clench unconsciously, his teeth grinding together at his feeling of helplessness. It didn't take long before he started to cry quietly, looking downward so that his hair would hide his face from Sephiroth.

But of course, it didn't escape the man's notice, he simply just did not openly acknowledge it, staying a silent presence.

The Third was back to the pictures again, sorting through them with a hint of desperation. "But..." he protested weakly, struggling not to let the emotion tinge the quality of his voice. "You said you got this from the labs?"

"Yes."

It was so flat an inflection, that even with tears streaking clean lines down his face, Vincent looked up through his stringy hair.

"Don't, Vincent," Sephiroth stated after a moment.

"What? Don't be human?" he choked out, almost grimacing. "Hojo killed him. Hojo experimented on him, just like he did to me. I though he...." The Third shook his head almost violently, as if in denial. "All this time...."

Sephiroth was the appearance of impassive, though that was not in fact the case.

Vincent got up, flinging the papers away angrily, very visibly crying. They drifted back down to the floor messily as he wiped at the tears almost furiously, as though he wanted to rid himself of them. He was moving toward the door almost blindly, beginning to sob as he stepped over the papers.

He almost jumped when Sephiroth jerked him around fiercely, grip tight, insistent on his arms. He had never even made it anywhere near the door. Their faces were instantly inches apart, Vincent feeling the hot breath of the man in front of him, as tears trickled down his nose then beaded at his chin.

"Relax."

It was so commanding and unexpected that he could only stare at his mentor, eyes wide and watery. A few more tears slipped down, emerald eyes watching their descending path down the dirt-stained face that was already red and blotchy with only hints of paleness beneath.

A glove wiped some of the tears away, while the General studied his student critically, pushing away black hair.

"You need a shower," he repeated for the second time.

A firm hand had Vincent by the arm, not waiting for an answer. He stumbled after Sephiroth, wanting to say no, not sure of what was happening. All he could keep thinking was that Hojo had killed his father, murdered him slowly and probably painfully, and for what? There probably was no reason, that was what angered him.

The scientist disliked someone so he deemed them appropriate for his inhuman experimentation, testing things on them that he had no evidence would even work. He didn't care, they were disposable to him. The Third knew his father had been nothing to the scientist, and that made him enraged.

He ended up in an expansive bathroom, all intricate tiles and elegant silver fixtures that seemed to be entirely Sephiroth. He was hardly paying attention though, crying without ceasing. He put his hands to his face, forgetting about his gauntlet, which left behind minuscule lines of blood when he rubbed roughly at his face, trying to stop the tears, both angry and embarrassed.

The shower was loud, cascading like a waterfall as it came from the ceiling from a large dish-sized faucet. Vincent acknowledged that he was being undressed, halfheartedly helping, by pulling his gauntlet off of his arm and trying to undo the upper part of his uniform. He didn't know why he was being agreeable about it, his mind elsewhere. Sephiroth finished the most of it, even assisting him in removing his boots.

He was completely naked, and not all that aware of it, as he was pushed passed the glass doorway and toward streaming hot water. The whole shower door was clear, not opaque like most would be. It made him feel exposed, but he wasn't in a mood to deal with feeling shy. The steaming water fell down on him in a pounding, almost needle-like spray, mixing in with all of the tears he kept crying.

The tiles were warm on his feet, and when he looked down he could see the brownish coating that had been on his skin being forced down the drain, where it swirled then disappeared. Even without soap, his hair lost its stiffness, though it felt less soft than it normally did.

He was watching everything, the rising moisture, the dirty water...he just didn't want to think about anything. He didn't want to think about his father slowly wasting away for one of Hojo's sick experiments. Those pictures...it made him want to wretch and vomit.

Sephiroth, who Vincent had nearly forgotten about, came in a few moments later. He was nonchalant, almost as though the boy wasn't present. He pulled shampoo from a nearby shelf then put some through his dry hair, starting at the scalp, and applying it quite copiously all the way down.

The Third stopped paying attention to the water, unable to tear his gaze away as the man moved his fingers all the way through his thick hair. It didn't help that he was nude and absolutely unashamed or inhibited in any way. Vincent could still feel his tears, even through the water, though it thankfully helped hide them, and there was distraction.

He should have been infuriated that Sephiroth was acting as though nothing was wrong, but he was too overwhelmed by everything else. He just stared almost blankly at the man across from him, glad to think about _anything_ else.

When Sephiroth approached him, he merely blinked, looking up at the unmistakable face. He was moved gently from the water, where hands began to comb through his hair, slicking it with soap until it frothed brownish.

It was so out of place an action for his mentor, that Vincent's confusion was clearly expressed outwardly, even as the hands moved to his neck, almost massaging along the way. He closed his eyes, not thinking about anything at all, just the fact that someone was paying attention to him, and that the person was the one he cared about the most.

He was slipped a bar of soap not long after, and he began to use it numbly, eyes flicking to Sephiroth as he moved himself underneath the water. It was apparent that the kind gesture hadn't been entirely chaste given the man's erection, but he didn't seem to paying it any mind at all, only rinsing his hair.

Vincent sighed, leaning up against the wall for a moment as he breathed in the hot, humid air. It should have been strange to have a hot shower in such weather, but it had definitely eased him up somewhat; he didn't feel half so tense, even if every few seconds he would cry a little, usually quietly.

If Hojo had just died sooner, maybe...

He closed his eyes again, squeezing them shut tightly, as though to fend off the thought.

* * *

A/N: Sorry if this was full of errors and/or kind of skippy. I had massive amounts of trouble with it, so my apologies. Hopefully it still works out alright. Vincent is growing up! :D


	51. In the Dark

A/N: As alway, eternal love my reviewers...even though it sounds insanely fluffy :D Thanks to: Marezuls, kiralover44, NicotineGum, whatevergirl, ChickenNova, Uzumaki-Noroi, bakimono, tokidokilove, OvenBased, KT, CaseyAnn'sPrecious, Dame Nosferatu, and Aldalena !

* * *

The shower didn't last too long.

After Sephiroth forced him under the jet of water to rinse, it was turned off not long after. Vincent stood blindly in the steamy fog, only half paying attention as the man grabbed a soft, thick towel from a rack on the shower door, while he stood by and dripped. It was wrapped around him without much tenderness, simply draped across his shoulders, while the General yanked another free for himself.

Sephiroth fastened his own around him before moving to the boy again, saying nothing about the blank expression and watery, bloodshot eyes that let tears slip at random intervals. The Third looked up at him finally, when the towel was used to roughly dry him off, then dumped over a shoulder as an afterthought.

The man sighed, green eyes assessing in that way that had a tendency to make the unsuspecting flinch in response. Vincent stared back, sniffing a little. He could smell the shampoo, no longer the stench of stagnant pond water and slimy algae.

"You can't change it," Sephiroth said after a moment, eyes flicking over him. "There is no reason to think that it could have been altered. It is done with now. There is no going back."

Vincent's head bowed slightly in defeat, his gaze leaving his mentor. It was true, it couldn't be changed, but he knew that he had every right to _feel_ something about it. He wasn't a machine, he wasn't cold, and he didn't have the ability to shut it all off, even if he desperately wanted that ability at times.

Chaos was quiet, no response, not even the slightest suggestion that it was there listening in, like he knew it was. It was so random in its appearances, that he truthfully did not know when to expect its presence. Sometimes it seemed to taunt him when he felt sorrow, others, it was completely uninterested. He was grateful that it had chosen to be silent for once; he needed quiet.

"I know," he mumbled.

"Acknowledge it and move on," Sephiroth ordered.

Vincent's eyes narrowed. "Get over it, is that what you're saying?" he asked angrily, moving a step closer, and hurriedly tying the towel about his waist. His hair was dripping copiously onto the tiles at his feet, as the man had not bothered to rub it free of moisture.

"If you want to take it that way," the man responded, looking almost disinterested.

The Third shook his head, sending water onto his bare shoulders, where it trailed down his chest. "It never changes with you, does it?"

"You want to dwell on things that you cannot change. Don't. That is what I am telling you," Sephiroth stated more firmly, his tone less hollow than before.

"It hasn't even been an hour," he said, more tears falling. "My dad is dead. Hojo...I don't even know what he did to him. In fact, I'm sure if I ever would have had the chance to ask him, he probably wouldn't have known either. He's sick. He was sick and twisted." There was a long silence in which the General only observed in that detached way, and the Third continued to cry soundlessly. "You let him live, Sephiroth," he accused softly. "What if...."

"What if I had killed him before he experimented on your father," the man finished for him, lips a tight line. He closed his eyes briefly, voice coming out in a whisper. "I have made many mistakes. I let Hojo live for my own reasons, regardless of the methods he continued to use long after he was forced from Shinra. But I cannot change the past, Vincent. It is done with now, and we all must live with those consequences. You and I both know this."

Vincent swallowed the knot in his throat, jaw clenched so that he could hear his teeth grating together. "He could have been alive, right now," he said through an audible sob. "I wouldn't have been in the army, I wouldn't have ended up in SOLDIER."

For some reason, that thought stopped him for a moment. If he hadn't been in SOLDIER, he would have never have known the General, Angeal, or Zack. He wouldn't have made the friends he had. He didn't like to think that things happened for a reason, but when he seriously considered it, he knew that if his father had been around when he needed him, he might have finished school, maybe even gone into some sort of science research like his father had been involved in. SOLDIER would have never entered his mind.

Joining up had only been a last resort when he realized that he didn't have a means to go to college after highschool (which he never even completed in the first place), and he was tired of living with people he barely knew or cared to know.

"Yes," Sephiroth agreed. "Or perhaps this is your calling, as it was mine."

The Third frowned, eyes still narrowed defiantly. "I don't know."

"And there is nothing wrong with not knowing."

The man pulled a hand towel from a silver ring, moving closer to Vincent and beginning to run it through his hair with no comment. The boy let him, not pushing him away or arguing over it. There was something nice about being taken care of for once, particularly when he felt in no shape to do it himself. He felt physically weak, as though he were sick with flu, his shoulder aching from the mental strain he carried, and limbs numb yet heavy. He was lethargic from being so distraught.

When his mentor finished, he ran through it with a brush, then tended to his own hair. It was strange to see the General brushing at it, parting it into sections between his thin, nimble fingers. The silver hair touched the middle of his thighs at some points, so long that it seemed like it would constantly get in the way. Though Vincent knew from watching the man that he treated it as though it wasn't there at all, a mentality that was obviously effective, given his skill at his profession.

"Are you hungry?" his mentor asked offhandedly, setting the brush aside.

Vincent shook his head. He was too upset to feel hunger in that moment. His stomach was all twisted and painful, almost nauseous. It felt empty, probably because it was, but he knew that eating something wasn't an option; he didn't feel he'd be able to keep it down.

Sephiroth walked past him, discarding his own towel on the counter. He rummaged through the closet in his bedroom, leaving the Third to stare blankly at his own reflection. His face was puffy and red, his eyes covered in minuscule veins and very glassy in appearance. He blinked, rubbing his face as he tried to consciously switch off the instinct to start sobbing pathetically. He was getting very tired of the overpowering emotions, and he wanted some control over them. He could almost ignore Chaos, so maybe he could ignore this?

His mentor returned, dropping a pair of pants and a shirt on the edge of the marble. He still wasn't dressed though, completely naked, with his hair hanging about him. He still had some droplets of water on him, which would scatter upon every movement.

Vincent didn't blush, he only looked him over, realizing that it was a not so subtle advance. He didn't have much reason to protest anything at that moment, and didn't try to pull away when Sephiroth somehow ended up directly in front of him, silver hair trailing down both their stomachs.

"Come here," the man said gently, grabbing him by an arm.

They walked back into the dark bedroom, with the plush bed and the window sealed up with metal slats. It was too dark, in a way that would have been unpleasant to many people. Even the paint was a somber tone, a reddish black that struck Vincent as something from a house on a bad block in a bad neighborhood. There were only two lights; a dim one in the very center of the ceiling, and one on the night stand, probably for reading. It was different from all the other rooms, the only one with such a blatant personal touch to it. The color was not unlike dried blood, he realized.

He was led to the bed, and sat there gratefully, without protest. He was still crying, despite his efforts, trying not to sniffle noisily. It was low to the ground, almost too much so, and the mattress was hard and unforgiving beneath the soft exterior of silken sheets. It was slippery against his legs, but he didn't mind, only pulling at them gently between his fingers as his mentor continued to observe him.

There was an extended moment where Sephiroth thought something over, eyes clouded over with something the Third couldn't interpret. Eventually, he moved around the boy, and pulled back the sheets about halfway, towering over him.

"Lay down," he ordered. "Go to sleep."

Vincent frowned, confused. The General did not wait for a response, and merely coaxed him nonverbally to move to the side of the bed and get beneath the covers. Strong hands forced the Third onto his back, then yanked the blankets back over him without ceremony.

The overhead light was switched off, bathing the room in black except for the brightness emanating from the bathroom. There was the sound of another switch being turned off, complete black, as the boy stared at the ceiling, caught up in thoughts, both about the reports, and vague wondering over what was happening. Sephiroth had wanted to do something, hadn't he? The man hadn't exactly hidden it.

The bed moved a little, then another body was under the sheets with him after a little rustling, then shifting. He could instantly feel the heat of it, though it wasn't touching him at all. Vincent turned his head to look, and could see the General's profile and make out some of the features of his face. His night vision wasn't perfect, but he knew that if he hadn't been enhanced everything would have been entirely black and indiscernible.

Tentatively, he let his hand wander under the sheet until he found a hard, muscled shoulder. There was a sigh.

"Stop thinking and go to sleep, Vincent."

* * *

"So are you going to explain any of this to me?" Zack asked, crossing his arms over his chest. "I don't trust Genesis, and really, I thought the whole point of coming here was to bring him back, not to let him talk us into staying."

Angeal exhaled slowly, weighing his options. He was standing by the worn dresser in the room they were sharing, watching his student fidget endlessly. He had slept at least a short while, which the man could tell, given that the teen's black hair was more spiked and ruffled than usual. His jacket was still on, wrinkled from sleeping. The Second's boots were missing, however, discarded over by the doorway in a heap (he had nearly tripped over them coming in).

"And that innkeeper guy, he asked me about a hundred questions when I got back," Zack continued when he got bored waiting for his mentor to respond.

"I need time to think this over," the Commander stated through the talking, walking over to his bed and sitting down on it slowly.

"Fine. But I still think Genesis is up to something. This whole thing is weird. And what did he tell you, anyway?" He had a look of suspicion on his face as he said it, knowing he was being kept in the dark about whatever the First had told Angeal.

"Don't worry about it, Zack. We'll discuss it later."

The Second was openly disappointed, arms still locked over his chest. But Angeal was in no mood to relent, and only gave his student a harsh look before settling in his own bed.

* * *

Green eyes opened in the dark, pupils focusing on the ceiling.

There was a dead quiet except for the rhythmic breathing of the boy sleeping next to him. He stared for a long while, listening with intentness for anything out of the ordinary. He never woke without reason, particularly when it had barely even been a few hours, and there had been no nightmares to rouse him.

Vincent had stopped sniffling an hour ago, and finally fell into a deep, exhausted sleep, too tired to fight it off any longer. The man tuned out the Third's breathing, finally, deciding that whatever had caused him to wake, did not have to do with him.

Something was...different. Something was wrong.

He rose to a sitting position, the sheets sliding down over his bare chest and gathering in his lap. He did not question his instincts in the slightest; they were always correct. He turned his head, feeling the wet hair shift over his back, still damp from the shower. Pushing the covers down completely, his disentangled himself from them and got out of bed, going directly for the closet.

He pulled on his clothes almost soundlessly, not even bothering to fasten his coat around him. He left the room, closing the door behind him gently.

His phone was probably dead, as it had been immersed in a pond. Though they were certainly more durable than a typical cell phone, he knew that it was unlikely that it would work at all after such treatment unless allowed time to dry completely, even then, it was highly probable that it wouldn't even turn on. He hadn't even bothered to think about it, too preoccupied with Vincent, so it was likely still in the pocket of his ruined trenchcoat that was bunched up on the bathroom floor.

There was one phone in his apartment, which he rarely used, but was always filled with messages. Admittedly he tended to leave it disconnected. He bent down and put the plug into the jack, tapping his bare fingers on the kitchen table. Masamune was resting against the wall in the hallway, where he had left it. The urge to go to it was quite strong; his eyes kept darting to it.

He dialed the one with an index finger, which connected him directly to the President.

Yes, something had definitely happened; every cell in his body was radiating a silent warning.

* * *

Vincent woke up alone. There was a brief moment of confusion, as he blindly groped the other side of the bed, finding nothing but cold sheets.

Sephiroth was gone.

Sleepily, the Third managed to get up from the bed, pushing his hair from his face. It had dried badly, given that he had slept on it, and it seemed to be more willing to cover over his eyes than usual.

He couldn't hear anyone moving around, though he might not have heard the man, given that he hardly made a sound as it was. Walking into the bathroom, he wrapped his fingers around the clothes Sephiroth had put there for him earlier.

For some reason exploring the man's rooms entirely naked just didn't seem appropriate. After he had pulled those on (which he noticed offhandedly were black, and fit him almost perfectly, something that made him frown), he decided to leave the bedroom and check the livingroom.

He didn't like going around the man's apartment without his permission, but given that it seemed to be the middle of the night (it was difficult to tell without much of a window), he figured his mentor had just gotten up for awhile. Truthfully, Vincent just didn't feel like being alone. He felt hollow, empty, and he knew, regardless of how much he wanted to lie to himself, that talking to Sephiroth would probably ease him up somewhat.

"Sephiroth?" he called, letting a hand rest on one of the doorways.

He stared into the dark, eyes adjusting. The livingroom was empty, and so was the kitchen. Nothing really looked any different, though. He began to wonder if the General was in one of the other rooms, though he was hesitant to encroach on the man's privacy. When he thought about it, he didn't think he would have taken it so well himself if someone had wandered through every room in his apartment.

Making up his mind, Vincent took a seat on the couch, sighing. It was so silent, almost painfully so. He couldn't remember the last time he was in his dorms and heard that kind of quiet. It was hard to find any when living with a bunch of animated teen boys, all of which didn't seem to believe in curfew or having any sort of privacy at all. It was just constant shouting and roughhousing, then of course messes.

The floor was always filled with clothes and wrappers from food products, generally contraband junkfood smuggled in from other parts of Midgar. That and cigarettes. A lot of the boys smoked, so everything---the boys themselves included---stunk of ashtrays, along with sweat and overall dirtiness. He didn't actually dislike smoking, but he was somewhat grateful that the uncleanliness of the others had put him off of it.

The minutes seemed to stretch on. He stared blankly around the room, taking in the almost insane neatness and minimalist nature of it. It was as though the room was a stage for some sort of furniture catalogue, everything arranged perfectly, in a way that in life was not really possible. The only conclusion he could come to was that the man was either particularly neat, or that he did not really use his apartment. The only room that told of someone alive and breathing was the bedroom, which had a vague scent of Sephiroth and of leather. Then of course the color of the walls and barred up window, which were the only hint of decoration in the entire place besides the bathroom.

Vincent had nearly drifted into a half consciousness, when he was forced to full wakefulness by a loud ring of a phone. His heart pounded from the unexpectedness, sounding deafening to his sensitive ears. He got up from the couch, his first reaction to answer it, until he remembered groggily that he was in _Sephiroth's_ apartment. At night. With wet hair from a shower. He stopped himself, looking over into the kitchen where the phone rested. It rang a few more times before it hit the answering machine. It was the voice that startled him.

"Vincent, answer the phone." It was Sephiroth.

The Third ran over to it, yanking the corded receiver up off of the hook roughly. "Yeah?"

The man wasted no time in speaking once he realized it was the Third. "I want you to come down to the Shinra building. Bring all of your weapons. Don't stop along the way."

"What's going on?" he questioned, catching the strain in his mentor's voice.

"The power is out in most of Midgar. Though the President isn't too concerned right now, I believe that this may be part of something more, and I am unwilling to take chances. Be prepared for anything."

The line went dead, leaving Vincent gaping. Sephiroth had sounded almost...distressed, which was completely unlike him. He held onto the phone, eyebrows drawing together. Something wasn't right, particularly if it was breaking through the General's mask of perfect calm. How could the power be out in Midgar? He couldn't even remember the last time there was a surge. Mako reactors were virtually full-proof at providing power, or at least that was what he had been led to believe. Maybe it was just a short, too much at one time?

What the hell was going on?


	52. Monsters in the Black

A/N: Yes, the evil cliffhanger. Tension is good...revel in it XD Thanks to everybody who reviewed! These lovely people: whatevergirl, CaseyAnn'sPrecious, Chicken Nova, BeeJang, Valitiel, kiralover44, Risikaa, Dame Nosferatu, KT, and OvenBased !

* * *

Sephiroth was standing by the window in his typical place, head turned away from the heated argument of men sloppily attired in business suits. He was silently, inconspicuously, keeping an eye on the grounds, simultaneously flicking his emerald eyes to the reflection of the debate in the floor to ceiling glass windows he was looking through. It was difficult to see with the glare of the overhead lights.

The meeting had been thrown together at the last possible moment, half of the participants disheveled somewhat from sleep, though they had obviously attempted to tame their look before arriving. That was the way of such people.

Tseng was standing off in the corner quietly, Rude beside him with his hands latched in front of him neatly, while Reno leaned lazily against the bleach-white wall, shirt barely even buttoned at all, goggles over his probably dilated, bloodshot eyes. The General could smell the liquor coming off of him, pungent and almost nauseating in its power, even from across the length of the room. The Turk didn't seem to be really listening to the discussion, but that was nearly always his prerogative.

Tseng, however, seemed to be holding particular interest in exchanging meaningful glances with the General. They could both feel the buildup, the tension, and each knew that it was probably far from its climax. It was something tangible, as though in the air itself, an immanent future was reflected in the reddened faces of screaming executives and the icy, calculating gaze of the silver-haired General. The signs were everywhere, if one was willing to seek them out.

Lazard looked somewhat rattled. He sat too rigidly, his gloved hands laced too tightly upon the tabletop. His eyes repeatedly found the General's, but did not hold the green eyes long. He was far too nervous about the situation to draw upon his usual calm. He must have also recognized something...different.

"You should be interpreting more than a simple power outage," Sephiroth stated dryly through the raised voices, not even bothering to shout, as his pitch of bland emotionlessness was easy to discern from the overall timbre of rage.

It seemed as though someone had done something obscene. Every face turned to look, arguments dying in sore throats. They all had become intent on the General, unsure of what to make of those words, all having been discussing how to fix the blackout, rather than stopping to think _why_ it had happened to begin with.

Sephiroth did not bother to look up at his audience, studying the grain of the leather on his gloves. He was in thought, uninterested in revealing anything to anyone, particularly to Tseng, whose vision was entirely focused on him, if instinct was anything to go by.

"Have any technical difficulties been discovered that would have caused this?" Sephiroth asked the room in general, inflection almost sarcastic. Almost. He already knew the answer, but he felt it was the question that needed to be asked in order to set the proper wheels spinning.

"We have yet to discover the source, though we have the tech team working on it," the President explained, now very much interested in the man's assessment. "Why?"

"I want the entire base on standby."

"What possibly for?" the President asked incredulously, many of the suits looking blatantly confused by the order.

"You do not find it odd that it happened for no obvious reason? If it was a surge or a blackout, the main system would have already logged the error, as it always has a backup power source, regardless of the rest of the grounds. One of the Seconds from the barracks had to report the outage. The generators had to be switched on manually, though the main system is automated to do so itself in case of power outages. Unless the system is having multiple errors, among other things," he said tellingly. There was a ghost of a smile, biting in execution. "It almost looks deliberate."

He was leaving out the most important part, but made no show of it. He was watching for something.

The room seemed to digest this, as the General finally glanced up. His eyes went directly to Rufus Shinra, who was seated to the right side of his father. There was a way about his expression that caused Sephiroth to study him excessively, both the posture and the set lines of the face. Pale blue eyes kept flicking to the senior Shinra, then to Lazard, who was at the farther end of the table, having arrived later than some of the others for whatever reason.

"That bothered me as well," Lazard answered. "This building for instance, is still running power, yet the cafeteria, mess halls, and many of the barracks are entirely without power. It was selective, as though someone shut them off individually. Then nearly the entire city outside of the base is blacked out."

"Or it's just some flaw affecting certain areas," Rufus interjected. "It could be any reason. You know that it could happen at any time, but fortunately everything is well kept, so it doesn't. There is no reason to jump to conclusions before the tech team has been able to sort it out."

"I agree," the President seconded, eyes narrowed slightly as he looked over Sephiroth. "It was likely just a malfunction at the plant, I'm sure." There was a brief pause and a measured, almost theatrical sigh. "I find your theory a little difficult to believe, General."

Sephiroth seemed surprisingly unaffected. "Then why is it that there was an attempted security breach of the Lab's lock down two hours ago?" he questioned, with a slight smile. "It seems as though someone was trying to shut down high security areas electronically and failed, which is the reason this building and the main system are still powered, along with anywhere else that requires high clearance. Or perhaps you did not catch that minor detail?"

There was the wash of voices over the room, Tseng saying nothing at first, though he looked surprisingly pleased, as though he had been waiting for Sephiroth to say that very thing.

"I have been looking into that breach," Tseng offered. The voices died down immediately, attention becoming rapt for a second time. "I was unwilling to relay anything until it was certain. We will likely know within the hour. Unfortunately the main hub is not functioning properly, and there have been a mass of program errors regarding the reports from around the base."

The Turk walked forward a few paces, looking neatly dressed, much to the shame of the others. "I would venture to guess that there was more than one security breach, and someone tried in vain to conceal their tracks with a barrage of system errors, as generally the software runs quite smoothly. As for the rest of Midgar, that will be another problem the team will need to address; I am nearly certain the two are connected. It seems like someone might have managed to crack through some of our more trying security precautions."

"Why wasn't I informed of this?" the President asked, honing in on the Turk, who was supposed to be his informant on everything.

"He wasn't sure," Reno provided with a halfhearted grin. "Like really not sure." Rude only raised an inquiring eyebrow at his partner's lack of eloquence. Their leader was entirely unamused, but did not lay down a reprimand, at least not publicly.

"As I requested: put the base on standby," the General said flatly, ignoring the conversation.

As though his words were the key to opening the floodgates, a deafening boom cracked through the room, louder than a hundred simultaneous gunshots, and with enough power to shake the building and its occupants, the bulletproof panes wavering as they were bent by the force.

The color orange was bright enough to see through the darkened glass, even through the glare of the overhead lights.

Faces became stricken in an instant.

* * *

Vincent was running down a staircase when the explosion happened. He didn't see it, only felt it, his chest clenching with renewed panic. He was hurrying as fast as he was able, jumping down sets of stairs recklessly as he tried to get to the bottom floor. He must have taken a wrong turn, because somehow he wound up in the lobby, rather than the back entrance, and found some of the higher-ranked SOLDIERs who were gathered around the reception desk.

All of them had turned toward the entrance, looking out through the glass doors, though nothing could immediately be seen. As though all of one mind, each departed without word, moving toward the same point with purpose. Vincent followed in their wake almost mindlessly, clutching at Cerberus. His gauntlet strapped onto his left arm, and his boots were half-laced onto his feet, as he forced his way out the front doors.

Something akin to fear blossomed in him, threatening to ruin his calm. The men in front of him shouted orders to one another as they rushed toward the demolished building of what used to be part of the labs. The Third didn't follow, ignoring the silent urge to help, and doing exactly as Sephiroth had told him: not stopping.

It was aflame, he could see it. The smoke was billowing up into the black night, ashes falling from the sky as the pyre blazed. He could smell that distinct fire scent, knew it would stick to his skin and clothes, stay in his hair until he washed it again.

Chaos laughed.

He ran almost blindly through the black, going for the Shinra building, which wasn't all that far, considering. It wasn't like the barracks, which were a good ways from him. He was so grateful that Sephiroth was far away from the fire, and everyone else as well. If it had to be one of the buildings, at least it was the one he had no concern for. Hollander and all the scientists could burn for all he cared.

He made it to the lobby, somehow not surprised that he suddenly had clearance. He could hear people yelling to one another. He wasn't sure if he should search for Sephiroth or stay put. It seemed like a stupid idea to try in such a huge building; the floors seemed limitless, and he had no idea as to which one the man would be on.

He moved off to the side, watching the looks of panic as other people, mainly just workers, rushed out of the building. It seemed as though the dead base had come alive; like a hive, the first sign of intruder and they suddenly dispersed on the area, keen to know what was going on.

Vincent stubbornly remained calm, waiting for the General to show. He didn't need to allow himself to get involved in the mob mentality; he needed to remain a SOLDIER, not a citizen. His gun was loaded and he had two belts of ammunition strapped over either shoulder, along with heavy pockets. If anything happened, he was more well-prepared than he had ever been for it.

Finally, green eyes caught his. They met each other halfway, Sephiroth placid, as was his way. The long coat wasn't even buckled at all, just left open so that his chest was exposed, and his hair was a little less controlled than usual, likely from sleeping on it wet. The man ignored the steady trickle of people, focusing only on his student.

"Go with the other Thirds. They are going to be gathering over by where you do drills, as per emergency procedure. Do not stray from the group, and do not play hero, am I understood?"

"Yes, sir," Vincent answered automatically.

Part of him withered at being shoved off like something of insignificance, but the reasonable part of him knew that the General had much more to do than to bring him as a tagalong or give him separate instructions. No, in this case he would do as asked, like a SOLDIER. Unless.... Well. He would think about that if it arose.

* * *

The other Thirds were nervous, and it seemed to spread like plague, affecting guards and Seconds alike.

Vincent only stood amongst them, somewhat glad Zack was not on base; he couldn't get hurt or something that way. At the same time, he knew they could use Zack and Angeal, even Genesis, but that was not the way it was going to be. They would have to make due with who was around.

He was wandering between the others, avoiding taking on their anxiety, but nonetheless feeling restless. They still had no orders except the one to stand by, though some of the Seconds had disappeared, probably called independently. The squad leaders demanded order, which hushed the group somewhat, though did nothing for the growing apprehension. They were gathering into disorganized lines.

Vincent turned to his left after a moment, eyes scanning the crowd. Then what he had thought he had imagined, was voiced again.

"Vincent!"

It took a moment, but finally the Third figured it out, then waved broadly so that the other boy could see him, face still stony, though internally he was grateful to see the blonde.

"I was looking for you," Cloud said, breathing a little heavily, as though he had been running around. His voice sounded hoarse.

Awkwardly, the guard took a place behind him in line, knowing that he was not supposed to be there, but too nervous to do otherwise. His blue eyes still darted around, as though he expected to be caught at any minute.

"Are you okay?" Vincent asked, having to speak more loudly than he was accustomed.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Cloud answered, though he didn't look it. He was clearly troubled, blue eyes less clear than usual, a few beads of sweat gathered above his light brows.

Just then they received their orders. They were shouted, then passed along to the back, who couldn't hear it over the buzz of anxious voices. They were being separated into groups— three squads a group—then sent to various locations around the base. It was as though they were planning for attack.

Vincent's squad was sent to somewhere near the cafeteria, while Cloud's group was ordered near the Labs, along with three groups of Seconds and one of Thirds. It was the one odd battalion, given more numbers since the Labs were where the chaos had originated.

The blonde's expression turned worried. His look was almost devastated, and he seemed to struggle with what to say. Finally, he managed: "I gotta go. I'll see you soon," he added hopefully. He moved off to go where his peers were going immediately, but looked back over his shoulder, giving a very hesitant wave of goodbye.

Vincent frowned at the guard's retreating back. He glanced over to his squad leader for a moment, biting his lip, gauntlet clenched. He sighed angrily. He started walking over to where his group was gathering, but was hesitant. He cursed his indecisiveness. Looking around, he adjusted a strap, trying to relax himself, but he felt bad for Cloud. He knew exactly what it was like to be on your own with a bunch of strangers in a very bad situation.

Without further thought, he used the crowd to break from his group. He ran between the SOLDIERs, to where he knew Cloud would be, deciding that in all of the commotion, no one would care much. He would probably get reprimanded, but not too terribly given the current situation.

He placed a hand on the blonde's shoulder, causing the smaller boy to jump. He looked back, and Vincent gave him a half smile of encouragement. Neither said anything as they fell in, moving as a cohesive crowd toward the Labs at a quickly set pace. No one noticed the Third was out of place, or perhaps didn't care to say anything; they were nervous enough as it was, though the large group of Seconds were much more confident, which helped overall. Some had been to Wutai, after all, and nearly all had been on mission numerous occasions, so they were not as easily upset by the thought of a fight that might break out.

* * *

Smoke. It filled his lungs in curled grey wisps, making his eyes water, his throat get dry and scratchy. He could hear Chaos, as though in his ear, whispering seemingly meaningless things, stealing his voice to do so. He shook his head, trying to ignore it, as he was ordered along with the others to form a loose perimeter of bodies.

Each stood several feet apart from one another, some shivering slightly, from what he could see. Many of the Seconds disappeared into one of the grey-filled doorways, into the noxious, overbearing smoke, while the guards and Thirds remained gratefully outside.

He could hear screaming coming from inside the building, like people were being burned alive. He repressed the urge to cower at the horrible sound. Many of the others did not, however, exchanging frightened glances that only increased the internal panic that was beginning to culminate. Cloud was staring at the building, unblinking, his mouth partially open.

"They're going to die, huh? The people in the building, I mean," Cloud said quietly, sadly after a moment.

"Not if the SOLDIERs get to them. They'll have a chance," he answered, somewhat optimistically, hoping to calm the guard's nerves. He knew some of the others were listening as well.

Whoever had been in that part of the Lab were going to die. The fire was immense, too big for anything to live through. The heat of it had already caused his clothes to plaster to his skin wetly, his ebony hair clinging to his chin. He knew his skin must have gone red from the constant overbearing wave of heat; it was almost more than he could stand. He wiped at his face with a sleeve, eyes wandering over the licking flames. It was as though someone had poured the place down in gasoline; it just kept burning. And the screaming kept stopping, less and less....

There was the sound of shattering glass, so far away, Vincent almost missed it through the whoosh of the fire and the shouts of men giving orders through the din. He turned to look, swearing he caught a glimpse of a shadow skittering low to the ground. It slunk low near the corner of one of the Lab buildings far off to the left, disappearing into the deepest of its shadow. He swallowed.

"Did you see that?" he asked, eyebrows drawn underneath lank hair.

"See what?"

Cloud tried to figure out what the Third meant, squinting toward the left. The buildings were clustered together, some visibly blackened by the recent explosion. Their plain exteriors were all somewhat marred, and the leaping flames of the building in front of them cast long shadows that made everything seem twice as dark when out of the light. He didn't see anything out of the ordinary, and glanced to his friend in confusion.

"Something moved over there." Vincent stared, focusing on that single shadow. He felt it there, in fact he _knew_ it was there. Chaos seemed to growl, twisting and writhing deep in his gut, making it ache and burn, a cold sweat sweeping over him. "I don't think it was a person."

Cloud's expression turned worried from that revelation, as he kept his light blue eyes on the buildings. The Third could see the fire reflecting in them, as though they were made of blue-tinted glass.

Vincent held his gun tighter. He didn't have his holster with him, unfortunately, but he had snatched up a belt from the General's room and fastened it loosely about his waist, then proceeded to stow his gun through it. It would work for the time being.

More movement, this time Cloud spotted it as well, his breath catching in his small chest.

"There's more than one," the blonde whispered, throwing a quick look over his shoulder at the Third.

The other boys seemed to have taken notice as well, all of them intent, fearful even. One stepped out of formation a ways, walking backward, craning his head in an attempt to see more of whatever it was. He had his sword in his hand, and was taking ragged breaths, eyes wide, whites flashing.

"Get back in!" one of the Thirds hissed, gesturing violently at the other boy.

The one who was looking paid no attention, stopping and putting a hand above his eyes to block the light. He was shaking visibly.

"There's something there though," he protested meekly, hand dropping to his side. "What if it got loose from the Lab or something?"

A Second, one off to the side, said bitingly, "Get back into fucking formation before I drag you over here myself! You want to get everyone into a damned hissy? If it comes, we'll kill it, that's counting on all of you not having gone loony staring into the bright light for the last ten minutes."

The other teens were progressively getting more uneasy, silently asking one another for instruction. The words of the Second had the adverse impact to what was intended, his tone only scaring them further. They were all beginning to suspect that something was, in fact, lurking out in the dark, maybe stalking them.

Then it darted through the shadows again. Vincent only saw it because of his enhanced vision, and this time it was in a far enough shadow that the bright, burning fire wasn't wreaking havoc on his eyesight. It was low to the ground, moved like a predator. A wolf or dog? It slunk slowly, as though playing the light illusions to its advantage.

He was tempted to try and shoot at it, but it was at such a distance he could barely see it, let alone pull off that sort of shot without a scope. Cerberus was excellent for anything close range (once perfected, of course), but it did not have the same advantages at a distance. Not to mention, he didn't even know if whatever it was intended to harm them or not.

Couldn't it have come from one of the Labs like the Third had said? He wasn't willing to believe that entirely, though there was the broken glass. It had come from one of the other buildings, but why? How had it gotten out of where it was caged? Had it been imprisoned at all? And again, he had the feeling that there was more than one, particularly after Cloud had attested to it.

There was a strangled scream, agonizing. There was the silhouette of a person, then the creature—whatever it was—merging with it. Vincent could see enough to tell that it looked like a woman, definitely not a SOLDIER. He felt himself stop breathing.

Without even thinking, or obeying what Sephiroth had told him, he rushed out of position. Several of his comrades shouted at him, but he wasn't listening. There was the thud of his own gait, but it did not drown out the cries of distress.

He had his gun out in an instant. Holding it in the relative direction of the two fallen figures, he fired it into the air above them, hoping to scare whatever it was off. Nothing happened. The thing did not move from its victim, and they still writhed on the asphalt in a fight to the death. He could hear a deep rumble, turning higher pitched as the whatever it was continued its assault.

When he was close enough, he slowed. Without ceremony, he fired another single round. His adrenaline made him insanely steady, his grip sweaty on the weapon, but more sure than it had ever been. There was a yowl of pain, and the furred thing—from what he could tell—rose off of its prey. A snarl. Another shot. It was running toward him, eyes glinting in the low light, but Vincent didn't stop, he hit it again, letting all three barrels fire simultaneously, his ears ringing from the boom of Cerberus and his hands aching from his desperate grip.

It dropped with an audible gurgle. He kept running, hearing quite a few people in his wake. He halted hurriedly next to the thing, some sort of wolf-like monster, and fired once more directly into its head to make sure. He barely even acknowledged the action, going directly for the fallen woman.

The Third didn't hear the footsteps of all of the others behind him, virtually deaf to it. He knelt, letting his knees dig into the rough pavement, and grabbing onto her arm in reassurance out of pure instinct. Brown eyes stared up at him, glazed with a clear surface of withheld tears.

"Let me do it," he breathed, shoving Cerberus back into the makeshift holster. He put his hand to her throat, nearly whimpering at the sight.

It was full of gaping holes from needle-like teeth, bleeding out so quickly, the woman wasn't even speaking. Crimson was just staining her stark white lab coat, as she blinked a few times, trying to take breaths, but only succeeding in inhaling her own blood.

The others had stopped, some around the creature that had been shot down, but most hesitantly around the scene that was unfolding. Some of the Thirds turned away completely, but the Second from earlier loomed closer, as did Cloud, whose face became tear-streaked in seconds, his expression one of horror.

Vincent knew it was no good, they all did. There was too much blood, far too much.... It was warm and slick on his hand, the smell coppery, intoxicating. Chaos was utterly enthralled, and he almost couldn't control himself as he began to salivate, breathing heavier as he leaned over the dying woman, a hand pressed firmly to her throat.

"I'm really sorry," he whispered, letting out a strangled little sound, halfway between disgust for himself and complete helplessness.

The Second crouched down next to them, giving a tentative looked to Vincent.

It didn't take long before the attempts at breathing stopped. There was just a mess of blood, all over the Third's hand and wrist, as he pulled away. He could even feel that it had seeped toward his legs, wetting them through the material. He couldn't tear his gaze away from his hand, terrified, angry, and helpless all at the same time. Chaos urged him to lick at the blood, to stick his fingers in his mouth, just like Sephiroth had when they....

No!

Vincent took in a ragged breath, rising abruptly, mechanically. His eyes squinched shut, his one show of his waning control. Then, without ceremony, he cleaned his hand off the best he could, wiping the red off on his black clothes and hoping it wouldn't be too noticeable—he didn't need to be reminded. But the smell of course, would haunt him until he showered, just like the smoke.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. "Are you okay?" It sounded desperate and small, a child's plea. It was Cloud's voice.

"I'm fine," Vincent responded, not bothering to avert his eyes from the many who were watching him with visible concern and fright. He held all of their gazes, one by one. "We should get back to our places," he said calmly.

* * *

A/N: I tried to make this chapter as clear as possible, but as always, feel free to ask questions or point out errors. Sorry for where it ended, but it was already getting too long, and I'm too tired to continue. :)


	53. Loss of Innocence

A/N: Thanks to everyone who took the time to review for me, it really is encouraging. That would be: OvenBased, whatevergirl, NicotineGum, BeeJang, Chicken Nova, kiralover44, Dame Nosferatu, tokidokilove, Valitiel, Nalie, Risikaa, CaseyAnn'sPrecious, minoki, and CornCob! Nope, Nalie, I'm sorry poor woman doesn't get a name XD Poor woman #1? She is the ONLY woman in this story, I'm almost sure. No joke.

* * *

Not many people were pulled from the fire. Even fewer were found alive. SOLDIERs emerged black-faced, particularly the Firsts who had not even taken the time to cover their mouths with flimsy material masks as some of the later arrived had.

Vincent sighed. Cloud was beside him, shivering, blue eyes seeming to be permanently filled with tears. He knew the guard probably looked similar to how he had looked when he had been on the training mission that had gone so wrong. The blonde probably felt conflicted, going over in his head the reasons he had chosen to be a soldier, and regretting it. The Third knew he himself had.

He couldn't think about his father. He felt like he was shut off, like the emotional part of him had been torn out thoughtlessly, leaving a hollow, terrible space within. But it was good for the time being; he had taken too much at once and he needed the reprieve. He could think about his dad later. He could think about how Hojo deserved to die endlessly, again and again, later.

Wondering briefly if it was how Sephiroth felt all of the time, so cut off toward everything, he stared back at what he could see of the towering Shinra building.

Where was Sephiroth?

Cloud hiccuped, shaking his head miserably as they watched a very angry red and black corpse being carried out of a doorway. They were a ways away, but they could visibly see the human shape to the almost unrecognizable remains.

"Are you okay?" Vincent enquired softly.

He put a hand on a scrawny shoulder, giving a very tight-lipped smile. When the blonde only stared up at him, he felt quite bad. Even though he wasn't in his normal state, he felt enough to want to help the poor kid.

Still, the guard didn't answer. Vincent wrapped an arm around him in a soothing gesture. He only glared hatefully at a few of the Seconds who gave him a strange look. He rubbed at the blonde's shoulder, frowning. Apparently they weren't supposed to comfort each other.

He couldn't help but think that the only person suited to SOLDIER was Sephiroth; he seemed to be the only one who could take brutality and violence without breaking down. Then again, life had probably prepared him, hadn't it?

Jade.

He exhaled loudly, closing his eyes for an instant. Even thinking about it infuriated him. He thought of Hojo killing his father slowly for some reason didn't compare to the bizarre ache in his chest when he thought about the few things Sephiroth had said about it all. It was just...sick. He knew he should be mad with his mentor; Hojo had lived because of him. If the scientist had died before, maybe he never would have lost his father—that was something his mind repeatedly told him, one of the reasons it had taken so long to fall to sleep. But why, every time he looked at it all logically, did he keep having an overwhelming _need_ to forgive Sephiroth anyway? It almost felt wrong to be angry at him. But why?

He pushed the thought as far aside as he could, letting his gaze wander; he didn't want to think about it. In fact, the clammy feeling to his palms made him uncomfortable, strange even. No, he wouldn't think about it.

His eyes automatically went back to the buildings where that wolf-like creature had been, as he finally pulled himself from his internal monologue. He could make out its shape laying on the pavement, dead. He thought he could see the woman too. Was anyone else in the building? Had it killed anyone else?

That Second from earlier was watching them. He didn't say anything, made no acknowledgment of the crying either. Almost acted as if they weren't there. Some of the other Thirds were very rattled as well, but no one stepped forward to say anything to them. Instead, Vincent just tried to give them a look of reassurance that he himself didn't feel.

Vincent's eyes darted back to the buildings after a moment, the paranoia curling in his gut, taking over his senses. Chaos bristled in warning.

He had wanted to do a check of the entire perimeter, each building, but their orders had been to stand outside of the Labs as back up and to not stray unless there was an all-out attack. But he felt it was incredibly stupid to leave all of those buildings unchecked. Something was going on, but he was obeying orders, trying not to toss them aside like he seemed prone to at times. He wasn't even supposed to be with Cloud, he was supposed to be with his own squad.

It didn't matter. Sephiroth had even said that it was okay to question what one was told, hadn't he? The Third couldn't help but think this might be one of those times. All they were doing was standing around anyway, keeping watch. It was just a job given to them so that they would be around if something _did_ happen. What if there _were_ more of those creatures? Cloud had said he had seen more than one....

He tried to calm himself, keeping a firm hold on the guard, who didn't seem to be inclined to be let go of anyway. He used the blonde like an anchor. He had already disobeyed his mentor twice, and he had the feeling doing anything else stupid that endangered his life wouldn't be something the man agreed with. Part of him still wanted that approval, even if it went against what he told himself.

Sephiroth had said 'don't play hero', which was exactly what he had done. The man, as always, knew him better than he knew himself.

* * *

Genesis was pacing like a caged animal, blue eyes never leaving the filthy floor. He had been going for what seemed like hours, the Commander only watching him sadly.

There was no comforting Genesis. No matter what he said, the redhead would only cut at him bitingly with words, chiding him for, as the First had said, 'not being realistic'. It seemed his friend was above taking any words of solace, or as the Commander saw it, too ashamed to ever admit to wanting or needing such things.

It was, after all, pride. It was what Angeal knew had started his friends' feud. They both were so consumed by standing alone, by being the best, that their obsession with it overclouded nearly everything in their lives. The irony of it all, was that he had always thought that Genesis and Sephiroth were so incredibly alike when it came to what drove them, what they pursued. They both strived for perfection, though in different ways. He had always felt apart from them in that way, but had learned over the years that it was good that they had common ground. Their friendship had been incredibly strong, and he had been grateful for it.

But that was the past. Genesis only had loathing in his eyes when he said the name Sephiroth; there was none of that bond that had been there before, so vivid. They were all drifting apart. He did not like it, but it was something he could not ignore. Sephiroth no longer made time for them, not like it used to be, nor did Genesis. He could fondly recall times when they would all arrange their schedules so that they could train alongside one another or at least have time to talk, even if it was only a short hour out of an entire week. It had been something, at least, a conscious effort to maintain their complicated relationship.

He found himself spending more and more time with his student. And Sephiroth, he had been as surprised as anyone that he had taken on a student of his own. Vincent was strangely similar to the General, Angeal had seen it. They both had that iron determination, quiet, reserved personality.

Something had happened, he knew, back in Wutai. For some reason, Vincent had sealed himself unknowingly to Sephiroth, done something that had earned the man's respect. That was the way Sephiroth was; if he saw something admirable in someone he almost became another person, as he had with both of his friends.

Vincent, Angeal thought, would change Sephiroth, and it would be for the better. There was a hardened steel of a shell inside of the man, but it was not impenetrable. If he could not be around to console Sephiroth, he knew that the Third would. That put him at ease to an extent. They were alike, which the man had clearly seen already, and that would ensure that he did not just push the Third aside as he so often did with others. No matter how fiercely independent Sephiroth was, he too did occasionally seek out other people for advice. Vincent could give that, he was confident of it.

But it was also concerning. Vincent was young, Sephiroth was often more blunt and cut off than anyone could ever become accustomed to. His exterior of coldness had already seeped into the boy, he had noticed. There were slight differences to the Third that had not been there before that he knew did not just have to do with the injury. Though the man would never intentionally hurt his student, Angeal knew all too well how insensitive his friend could be without even consciously realizing it. It would be something he would watch closely.

As for Genesis.... The Commander was more concerned for him than anyone else. If Gast didn't find some sort of cure, something to stop the degradation....

He hadn't even been able to voice it to Zack. He would soon, when the time came. But he had barely begun to accept it for himself. He needed to think about it more before he went and told his student. He knew the Second was probably sleeping at the Inn, bored out of his mind. He had seemed almost angry when the Commander had left. There was a lot of tension from all sides, Angeal had noticed.

There was a very loud sigh from the corner, where Gast was examining samples. The old man smoothed at his beard almost compulsively, before reaching for a chipped glass. He downed the amber liquid without preamble, hand visibly shaking. Veins stood out beneath the weathered flesh.

There was a whisper, so quiet Angeal strained to hear it. The First was too distracted to listen.

"What have I done?"

Gast was staring at the emptied glass, shoulders slumped, almost as though in defeat. A bead of amber glistened on the rim, sliding down the glass and landing on the tabletop. The scientist watched it with a pained expression, finally turning to look over at Angeal.

There was something in his eyes that made the Commander's expression become visibly worried. The lines of the old face were drawn underneath the beard, starker.

"What is it?" Angeal questioned, after a considerable wait.

Genesis had ceased his obsessive pacing, scowling as he watched the scientist. His gaze shifted between the two men for a moment, but eventually settled on the empty glass.

"I have some...not so encouraging news, I'm afraid."

"Just get on with it," the redhead ground out irritably, lips pulled over his white teeth; the human equivalent of a wolf's snarl.

Angeal only gave his friend a hard look. "Let's hear it."

Gast shook his head, his voice coming out low. "I couldn't figure out why it was that your cells..." he was directing his words at the Commander, "...weren't having any positive influence. I assumed that I could do this like a transfusion, in essence, replace the corrupted cells with healthy ones. Maybe even use some of the genetic material to correct Genesis's abnormalities and even fix what he already has."

"Yes, you've said this," the First stated tonelessly, his countenance clearly suggesting he would prefer to be elsewhere.

"I couldn't understand...the donor cells...." Gast seemed at a loss for words, exhaling noisily. He seemed to steel himself for his next words: "Angeal, you're also degrading. Not as quickly as Genesis, but your cells are dying much more quickly than any healthy person."

There was an explosion of speech on the other side of the room. "What the hell do you mean?" Genesis hissed, stalking from his place in an instant. He was a flurry of red leather, posture stiff, as though he wished to lash out. He stopped not a foot from the scientist.

Angeal had said nothing. The First's eyes were burning into him, but he did not make any acknowledgment of it.

"I mean that you are both dying. The cells...they're corrupted, in both of you. I don't understand it. It makes no sense. Jenova had extreme healing capabilities during life...we ran so many tests on her genetic material. This does not hold up with the resear—"

Genesis had snatched the man up by the collar of his shirt, nearly freeing him of the chair beneath him. Blue eyes, though dull, held a fury beyond any the scientist had ever seen. He could discern the streaks of grey beginning to run through the red hair, four or five strands in each section. The skin was translucent almost, sickly pale.

Before either had realized it, Angeal's strong fingers had wrapped themselves around his friend's arm. He had come across the room faster than seemed possible. His expression was stern, determined.

"Let him go. Now." It was not a request, but an order. The strong jaw was a sharp line of twitching muscle as teeth were clenched together too tight.

Genesis made a 'hmph' noise, then dropped the older man with no warning whatsoever. Gast fell back into his chair with a crash, as the wheels propelled him into the desk from the force of his body weight.

"Suit yourself," the First sneered. "Seems like we have more in common than you thought, hey Angeal?" The smile changed to sickly sweet.

* * *

Like ghosts, they drifted through the shadows. Swaying, gnashing teeth in the darkness, bickering amongst themselves with sharp nips and furious, rolling eyes. More kept coming, emerging from the backs of four large, covered trucks that had arrived at the base only hours before. The creatures were all swift paws and bristled fur.

They could smell their dead compatriot, and wandered toward the area warily. Some had seen the commotion from afar, but not made their presence known, for the most part. A few went a little closer than others, almost letting the light catch on their forms. But it had been ingrained in them to wait before striking. They followed a leader, and no other. Even the roiling in their bellies that hungered could not overpower their urge to obey. Even the blood of the dead human couldn't be lapped at, couldn't be carefully cleaned from the pavement with eager tongues. They had to be patient.

Fenris still had not come. They started to get restless, and could see the SOLDIERs who kept nervously glancing in their direction. But their fur was black as night; they were different than the older one, the one that had been too quick to yield to its murderous desires and died for it. It had been one of the last, the flawed kind. Too compulsive, too unpredictable still. Imperfect.

They were moving toward the light again, when a loud sound ricocheted through the crowd of buildings, sending the wolf-like creatures scattering in confusion. One let out a yowl of surprise, from the noise, much to the others' annoyance.

It didn't take long before, much like a hive, they congregated together, sensing that they had been discovered. There were snarls of dominance from a few amongst them, as they all decided as a cohesive unit to face their attackers. Fenris was taking too long and they wanted blood. They wanted it badly.

There was another deafening sound, some cowering at it. It was the yelp of pain, however, that caused all of their number to hackle instinctively. Blood. One of them was dying; they could hear its writhing on the asphalt, the quick, panicked breaths of approaching death. Mortal wound.

* * *

Vincent had been sure he had seen one. The movement from the first shot he had let off, and finally, the dog-like sound of agony when he had miraculously struck his mark with the second, was enough to convince the SOLDIERs who hadn't seen anything, that there was in fact something running through the darkness in the distance.

Like shadows, the beasts approached them, deep, guttural sounds coming from their throats, lolling tongues far from comical. They seemed to come from nowhere, more and more emerging from around the buildings and advancing toward the ones who had hurt them.

Cloud had pulled his sword, and so had all the others, all ready to dispatch the creatures. The blonde still had some tears on his face, but became more calmed with a blade in his company.

Vincent fired at the animals without mercy immediately, finding that his aim was very true. He hit one in the chest, another in the head, causing it to slump to the ground immediately, high caliber round blowing a substantial hole through its skull and sending tissue splattering.

When the wolf-like creatures were close enough, the more bolder Seconds immediately began to attack them freely. They were blurs of black fur, so fast they were difficult to keep up with, even for mako-enhanced SOLDIERs. The Thirds were mostly intimidated, but didn't back down when the monsters approached them with vicious, gleaming teeth. There was not much of a choice in such a dilemma.

The things just seemed to keep coming, surrounding them. There were howls of agony as steel sliced through flesh. Vincent kept shooting, eventually having to back off and reload, getting behind some of the Seconds who were fending the things off fairly well with just swords.

The scent of smoke was thick in the air, along with the metallic smell of blood, as Cloud swung at one, blade smacking into skull. There was a primal scream, which caused the guard to balk, looking almost horrified as he dragged his sword back, the silver painted with flecks of crimson. But the Third had finished, and ended the noisy beast for him with a shot to the head. The blonde looked over instantly, breathing heavily, eyes wide.

"Kill or be killed," Vincent stated somewhat darkly. The frightened expression Cloud gave him made him regret it. His eyes softened. "It will be alright; you'll get used to it, even if it doesn't seem like you can," he added more gently.

It didn't take long before all the monsters were dispatched. Vincent noticed immediately that some of the Firsts had joined them, sending monsters sprawling with bone-crushing strikes. It was easy to pick out their calm skill amongst the frenzy of rushed attacks made by both Seconds and Thirds. Experience was key, apparently.

When he looked back at the fire, he could just make out the arc of water being sprayed down over the smoking wreckage. That explained why the smoke smell had gotten so much stronger. They must have gotten everyone that they could get out, he realized. There hadn't been many....

Cloud was standing off to the side, obviously troubled. He still had his sword in his hand, and was staring down at the red that was rolling down it in a shaky trail. A lot of the other Thirds and guards seemed to be having a similar reaction, most looking a little dazed, though not as emotional as the blonde.

SOLDIER was synonymous with the loss of innocence, Vincent decided.

* * *

A/N: I have no desire to write. Honestly, I forced out every word of this, but I got it done. So if you're wondering why my updates are tapering off into nothingness...heh. I will proceed anyway, muse fairies be damned!


	54. Of Blood and Pain

A/N: Don't worry, I'm going to try to keep going with this---we've made it insanely far. I don't want to give up on it, even if it is trying at times. Thanks to everybody who reviewed! If you asked questions and I didn't get to it, remind me. It's so late it's early XD Thanks to: TattooKitty, Marezuls, kiralover44, minoki, NicotineGum, whatevergirl, Dame Nosferatu, CaseyAnn'sPrecious, Risikaa, CornCob, Nalie, Valitiel, -CNFB-, KT, and OvenBased! Oh, and a note to everyone, since there seemed to be a bit of confusion: Fenris, the wolf thing, he wasn't the one Vincent killed, just for clarification. I tried to explain that through the other monsters, but it wasn't very clear at all, sorry.

* * *

Sephiroth detested the Labs. It was almost a nightmare to be in them, the way they twisted like a labyrinth, all too memorable.

They had been Hojo's Labs, once upon a time. What disgusted him was the fact that when they had been built, deep underneath the base, they had been off of specific blueprints. It was the exact design of the place he had been kept as a child.

Perhaps that was why they could still unsettle him slightly, like nothing else was capable.

He had spent years of his life in an lifeless lab just like the one he was now walking through in near darkness. There was almost no difference except for the flow of the air; the labs he remembered had been almost stagnant, deserted. This place had a feel of life to it, of people besides just one or two scientists hovering over petri dishes.

Few knew about these particular labs. They were where the more _extreme_ testing was done. After all, Shinra had to conceal its genetic research, given Hojo's not so private dismissal. It was now the property of Hollander, though few knew it. There was access around the base to get inside, but it required the highest of clearance. When he had been younger, Hojo had to escort him into the underground building. It was where he had gotten his treatments for a few years, far away from the prying eyes of Hollander or the other SOLDIERs. It was designated to whoever was the Director of the Science Division.

His mind kept flashing between past and present, as he went down a very familiar stretch, one of the longest, in fact. He had to keep closing his eyes, regulating his breathing. But still, the memory was burned in, permanent. He had avoided the hall for years, but to get to where he needed, this was the only path. There was only one entrance to the Labs' main computer.

He was going on instinct, knowing that it was the one computer that also had a more direct contact to the base's main system. If anyone were to try to gain control to the base, it seemed the most logical route to go—given knowledge of how the system worked, anyway. He knew for a fact that the Labs' computer could be accessed with the proper codes, making it much easier to manipulate. He had managed to get information from it before...a long time ago. Even so, they all were just suspicions, nothing more. He could be pursuing absolutely nothing.

Sephiroth's mind would not go to rest. Green eyes warily observed the surroundings, vivid in the darkness, reflecting like living mirrors. He could remember, he could see it all so flawlessly, as though not even a day had passed....

He shut his eyes again, trying to fight it off, but finally his hands went to his hair, fingernails catching in his scalp. He stopped walking.

* * *

**_The hallway was long and antiseptic. The lights glared, overpoweringly bright for such a confined space. He was running for all he was worth, chest burning, seemingly imploding internally with every pained inhalation. He felt like he was breathing in flames._**

**_It was the mako. Too much. It was always too much._**

**_There was a deep laughter ringing behind him, echoing. He ran faster, though everything screamed for him to just stop. He could feel the toxicity pumping through every vein, setting them alight. His chest felt heavy, and he could feel the cold sweat beginning to run down his temples. The lights kept fading in and out, and he realized with a start that they weren't flickering, he was._**

**_He rounded a corner, grabbing the edge with a small hand, using it for support. He vomited for a moment, letting whatever was in his belly be purged. It had kept rising in his throat, acidic, making it even harder to breathe. He didn't even bother to wipe at his mouth, but turned and ran again._**

**_He wanted out, any way out. Jade was crazy. Jade had gone crazy, he was sure of it. What if Hojo had done something to him? The man just kept getting worse and worse, and it scared him. Hadn't they been friends? When had it begun to blur with 'enemy'?_**

**_That thought made him want to turn back, to find Jade, and face the horrible laughter and the cruel hands. Maybe it was all just some sick sort of test he was failing at? How he wanted to believe that, but the urge to run was so much stronger. Every part of him was urging him, begging him to flee._**

**_The man didn't love him, didn't care, that's what the doubt kept telling him. He didn't want to believe it. But he was running, so he must have believed. He must have known somehow._**

**_"Come on, Sephiroth! Don't you like this game, little one?"_**

**_The man was close. So close. Sephiroth's pace became panicked, faster, more desperate. He had to run. If he ran fast enough he could get away. He could...escape. Maybe get away from Hojo too? But how many times had he tried that and failed? There was no way out. It was a maze, and he was nothing but its prisoner, never to be free. Even Gast had grown to hate him and left. They all hated him, even Jade._**

**_His bare feet were almost silent on the linoleum, and the flowing clothes helped keep his sound down as well. His hair was hacked horribly short, no longer hanging around his neck like it had before. There were pieces of it that stuck up, then others where it was completely shaved. But only a few minutes before, it had been the hard staples across his scalp that made him tear his fingers away, too scared to feel what damage had been done. Then Jade had come, all sick smiles, looking at the mess of hair in amusement. What had he said? 'Pets don't get to avoid the shears'?_**

**_He let out a whimper when he looked back and realized that the man was right there. The laughter was so loud his head was starting to pound, and he was getting more light headed by the second. The lights were winking in and out, the floor kept becoming a black, twisting hole, gaping open to swallow him into blackness. But he ran. He didn't stop, even when his gait became almost sideways, his hands skimming across a wall in a vain attempt to keep him upright._**

**_"No!" he screeched, feeling those impossible hands latch around him._**

**_He struggled, kicking hard at whatever was behind him, but Jade only laughed again, running a hand over the mess of silver hair, fingers digging into the child's chest._**

**_"But don't you love me, Sephiroth?" he asked mockingly, evilly. "You don't hurt the ones you love, didn't anyone tell you that?" A mouth was by his ear, biting at it. "I'm not so bad, I promise."_**

**_The child, though young, didn't believe him. He was too far gone for that, too smart. He knew how the game worked, and he wasn't falling for it. Sephiroth could feel the tingling in his fingertips as he willed everything to that one precise point. He shouldn't have been able to do it, yet somehow he could. He wanted it so badly, so much, because he hated being small, he hated being weak. He hated being at Jade's disposal._**

**_There was a searing heat from his hand, but the man didn't drop him, practically snarling in pain. The 'nice' voice changed immediately, and one of the hands found a chunk of longer hair, yanking it until some came out into his palm. Fingernails dug into the tiny body, white teeth gnashing like a predator._**

**_"You want to play that way? We can do it that way if you would like, you little shit," Jade growled, licking the side of the child's face almost as an afterthought._**

**_Sephiroth made a sound of disgust, trying to break free, but the grip was so much stronger than he was, and he was so weak.... The whole world seemed dim. He was being carried, held so impossibly tight he thought his bones would yield to the pressure and snap beneath it. He cried out in pain, causing that face to smile down at him._**

**_"Let me go," he protested weakly, trying to wriggle out of the arms, but finding himself further crunched in the vice. They kept moving quite quickly, Jade's stride much longer than his own was._**

**_He whimpered pathetically, trying to claw at the face with his hands, to no avail. He was only further restrained, fingers wrapping around his wrists, pinning them together._**

**_"If you cared you'd let me go," he said hopefully, fighting off the soreness at the edges of his eyes._**

**_He had loved Jade so much...he couldn't understand why the man didn't love him back. His teacher had to be so mean, so hateful. He knew that things would never again be the way they had been, when they were really friends, or he had thought they were. Jade was evil, just like Hojo. He had to forget about all of those things from before; it had all been nothing but a lie. The trip to the pond, all of it. Lies. Everything was always fake, why couldn't he seem to learn that? He had to keep trusting and trusting, when he knew better._**

**_He wasn't sure how long the man carried him in his arms; he merely watched the overhead lights pass him by, trying to figure out how to get loose from the strong hands._**

**_Sephiroth's fears were confirmed, yet again, when they neared the door, an all too familiar one._**

**_"No!!!" he screamed, becoming frantic at the sight of it._**

**_Jade only crooned to him cruelly, face coming dangerously close to his. Sephiroth tried to wrench himself free, small teeth snapping together loudly as he went for whatever was closest. But his mouth latched onto nothing, found no skin to rip apart. The man had pulled back somewhat, laughing insanely, as though it was the funniest thing he had ever laid sight on._**

**_The door was shoved open very roughly. They moved inside, captured and captor. It was a place of shining, brutal looking instruments that made the child start screaming instantaneously. His wrists had been released, so he clawed at Jade's back, begging him to turn back between his breathy shouts. He fisted at the expensive suit beneath him angrily, nothing but incomprehensive words and primal instinct._**

**_Abruptly all sound ceased. Jade was shaking him, eyes filled with fury. The boy was suspended above the ground, hands holding him tightly under the arms. Like a toy, he was shook, until he felt as though something would come loose. It was so harshly done that his head snapped back painfully._**

**_"Quiet! You want it worse? Do you really?"_**

**_Suddenly Sephiroth was mute, green eyes watery, fearful. The coldness in the voice had torn him from his frantic thoughts, the part that urged him to flee at whatever cost. The situation was truly reaching him. The man only smiled, obviously aware that the child had come back to reality: he wasn't getting away this time._**

**_"Please...please, I'll be good, I promise. I won't run away again," the child said softly._**

**_Jade held the boy closer again, as he began tugging at the straps on the table with a free arm. There was a sob, and the child petted at the man's suit, letting his head rest against the chest as a sign of goodwill and his last resort._**

**_Sephiroth knew the game, how to play it. Jade liked a fight, not compliance; it irritated him. If he played victim maybe the man would get bored?_**

**_"Don't even start that," Jade stated in annoyance, practically throwing the boy onto one of the cold medical tables._**

**_There was scrambling as the child tried to get back up, only to find himself being restrained. He started to lose his composure again, grabbing at the man's hands, pleading pathetically in ways he would hate himself for later._**

**_"Too late for that. We could have played nice, but you wanted to go exploring. You know what happens when you're bad, don't you Sephiroth?" Jade was grinning, that dark glint in his eyes._**

**_The room was full of reflective surfaces. The heady scent of an alcohol cleaning solution made his nose wrinkle, nostrils burning. Sharp, painful tools all around...knives, scalpels, electric saws strong enough to slice through bone.... The torture devices. All around. Everywhere, no matter how his gaze attempted to avoid such unpleasantries._**

**_The man looked the epitome of elegant, suit almost too perfect. Sephiroth's eyes followed him, his head pinned down to the table, so tight he couldn't move in the slightest. There were silver cufflinks at the wrists of the suit, scorpions, that the boy stared at, trying to ignore what the man was doing._**

**_Jade was pulling on one of the contraptions hanging from the ceiling, something the child didn't know the name of, but was all to physically familiar with. He whimpered from his place, trying in vain to squirm out of his restraints. He knew it would please the man to know he was dreading it, but he didn't care. He just didn't want to be hanged up in that thing again for hours, with long, pointed rods digging into seemingly every part of his upper body.... He wanted to be anywhere else. He would take the touching over it._**

**_"I'll do whatever you want," he said in a rush, hating himself for being so weak and giving in._**

**_Jade paused theatrically in his ministration, turning to look, hands still poised as they adjusted metal._**

**_"Anything?" he enquired with that disgusting smile._**

* * *

Sephiroth blinked, shaking his head. He had stopped along the hallway, breathing heavy. He could usually ignore such onslaughts of emotion, but the surroundings were making him throughly uncomfortable.

Jade had toyed with him that day, and he had complied so stupidly, thinking he could avoid the pain. But in a way, those long torture sessions, they had made him more what he was than anything else. He had learned about pain and how to take it, and how there was never a more pleasant alternative. Pain would always come; there was little use avoiding it. It waited, then it came, right when one's guard was down, when one was the most vulnerable.... That was always how it worked.

That was why he hated his almost avoidance behavior with Vincent. He was delaying the inevitable. He knew he could not sustain any sort of relationship; it was simply not a part of who he was. He was singular, independent, always would be. He could not even let Angeal into every part of his life. He sighed inwardly at that all too apparent fact.

His thoughts inadvertently continued to return to his student, even as he tried to focus on the task at hand, eyes narrowing in the darkness. His stride quickened, the slight creak of leather sounding as he glanced over a pauldron almost reflexively. It was at least relief from thoughts of his former teacher.

After a few more winding halls, he finally reached the door he had been searching for. He had to run his card as well as enter a very long code, but it clicked open without resistance.

He had a feeling the tech crew wouldn't check this particular computer for days, if at all. They weren't necessarily permitted in the area; all of the electronics were maintained by the Labs' staff, to keep information in 'loyal' hands. Janitors weren't even allowed. All of the original ground rules had been set by Hojo and passed to Hollander, who appeared to agree with the secrecy.

It was a fairly small room, lit by flashing lights and switches that were the only manual components of the entire system. Nearly everything was automated, something the General had always disliked. Complicated things were subject to fail.

The screen flickered on brightly, before he had even moved to do anything. The lights came next, illuminating the dull scenery. There was an immense flat panel screen on the wall, extending up to the ceiling, and stopping only when it reached the green console below.

He advanced across a few bland linoleum tiles, looking around quickly. His pupils had become almost invisible slits, the light far too bright for his sensitive vision.

He was waiting for something.

"Good evening, General Sephiroth, how may I be of assistance?" The dull monotone filled the quiet, distinctly inhuman. It had the tinge of metal to it that one expected from a machine.

So it was working. Good. It just might provide the answers he needed. "Who was the last person to access the system?" he questioned, eyes fixated on the screen.

There was nothing but blinding white for him to look upon, no stats appearing for him to glance over.

There was a pause. "That information is currently unavailable."

Sephiroth smiled to himself. Perhaps his hunch had not been so far from the truth? How interesting. "Unavailable? Define."

"No access log has been kept."

"You are required to maintain a list of each visitor to the system," he stated.

"There has been no access to the system."

The man found himself smiling again. "In what time frame? I want the last year."

"There has been no access to the system," it repeated.

"Not ever?"

"There has been no—"

"Yes, I understand that," he interjected, talking over it. "Have there been any system errors within the last week?"

The screen wavered for a moment, making him frown. There was the electronic hum of the system, which he could hear fading in and out. One of the lights blinked on the console, the one he realized was for the monitor.

"Has there been a power outage?" the man questioned, growing ever more alert.

No response.

The screen, which had been a bright white, disintegrated into grey. A hole appeared, starting out as a speck, but slowly growing, swirling like a drain. But instead of becoming smaller, it soon covered over the entire screen, making it a plain black.

Sephiroth sighed, taking a few steps closer so that he could examine what few controls there actually were. He looked over them one by one, black gloved hand hovering over one of the switches for a moment as he ran over options. There still had been no answer from the computer.

"No need to fret now."

The General, much to his credit, showed no outward reaction. The voice echoed all around, replacing what should have been a lifeless inflection. It was a man's voice. He straightened, moving backward slightly, eyes assessing, calculating.

"I've just been...having some fun, you see. Not that you know what fun is, no, no." There was an overbearing laugh, one that descended into giggles in a matter of seconds.

"And you would be?" Sephiroth responded, visibly expressing his distaste.

Someone _had_ managed to get full access to the computer. That explained the lack of documentation on its part; it had clearly been compromised. His eyes were darting over the screen, looking for an image that wasn't there.

"The one who corrupted the system, of course! And here I go thinking I'm going to have to send one of my lackeys to talk to you, tsk tsk. I must have underestimated you. Terribly. Isn't that terrible?"

"You are the one who spoke with Commander Hewley, yes?" He was drawing a conclusion together rather quickly; he already had his suspicions of who would attempt to shut down the base.

"Yes, yes. Impeccable memory I see. But no, let's not talk about that. Let's talk about something else. Like, Hojo."

Change of tactic? What did Hojo have to do with anything? The only reason the person would be interested in the scientist was because of experimentation. Sephiroth decided to go with it instead of fighting it. The best approach was to let the man get to what he wanted to talk about. He would tell more that way, which could be useful.

"He was the reason you killed Renault. It must have been distressing to discover that I made it to Hojo first," he said sardonically, with a ghost of a smile.

"Oh, indeed, _very_ distressing."

So they were from AVALANCHE, it seemed, if Tseng's information was correct.

"But not half so distressing as ending someone close to you must have been. I congratulate you on having such tremendous gall."

"Hardly."

"Oh, so killing a blood relative isn't distressing? Oh, there I go again, assuming you're human like the rest of us!" The laugh was insane again, filling up the tiny space. "Forgive me!"

Sephiroth hid his confusion well. "I think you have me mistaken for someone else," he replied flatly.

"No. Not at all. It's hard to mistake the bloodthirsty General Sephiroth, pride of Shinra, for _anyone_ else. Even as a child you had such striking features. Quite a screamer, weren't you?"

Something had immediately begun to squeeze down on him, his face prickling with apprehension. He blinked several times, his only show of his waning control. Blood relative? Screaming? Something was very off, and he did not like it in the least. He continued very cautiously.

"I am not sure what you mean," he answered simply, green eyes narrowed.

"I retrieved some rather..._interesting_ things from Hojo's labs, you see."

"Oh?" His jaw was clenched, a thin eyebrow arched. He clenched a hand in the folds of his coat.

"I suppose you must have been too busy to notice such things, being distracted by the boy. You seem to have developed some tendencies. They wouldn't be residuals would they? You wouldn't want to anyone to think you liked it, now would you?"

Sephiroth appeared placid on the outside, but his mind was snatching up thoughts at an alarming rate, making his blood quicken. The man was saying things he did not like. Hinting at things he_ shouldn't_ know. There was something wrong.

"_Daddy_ thought it was funny, didn't he? Terrible, terrible. Hiring assassins to train children? Oh, he must have been in his right mind; why did I not think of that?"

He swallowed, nearly unmoving except for his breathing. "What are you talking about?" he demanded, not willing to divulge anything on his own part.

"Daddy. Hojo? Oh how precious. He never told you _that_, did he? Just a minor complication." The tittering again. "That man, what was his name? Sinclair? No, you called him something else, Jade, was it? Yes, yes, your assassin friend."

Sephiroth was breathing heavily regardless of how much he demanded his lungs to slow. His pulse was pounding against his skin, and he could hear the hard thumps of his heart being overworked.

Lies. It was all lies.

Hojo? His father? That was positively laughable. It almost made the conversation seem like nothing but a foolish joke. But yet...something about that claim made his skin raise with bumps, hairs on end, tense against the leather covering his body. Just a stupid misunderstanding.... He repeated that to himself silently, green eyes locked on the floor.

How did the man know about Jade? What could he possibly have found? The thought of anyone knowing made him feel physically weak. He shook his head, as if to clear it, chest heaving.

"What do you know of Jade?" he enquired darkly, eyes becoming steely, defiant. He refused to become a slave to his own confusion and mess of emotions. He wouldn't allow it, not ever. He could mull it over later, when the time was more appropriate.

"Everything, of course. What Hojo knew, and then some. See, I was thinking of striking up a deal with you, an exchange...of sorts."

Sephiroth could hear the smile in the stranger's voice, making his own expression become one of irritation. "You didn't answer my question. What do you know of Jade?" he repeated, eyes clouding with his troubled thoughts.

"He worked for one of the dynasties in Wutai, once upon a time. Pederast. Fancied himself a bit of a God, didn't he?"

When the man did not continue, Sephiroth went back to his original suspicions of being baited. Perhaps the man knew nothing, only some vague references in a file he himself had somehow missed. The rape...he knew that there could be several reasons the man knew about it. It hadn't been much of a secret in the Labs during his time there. He was sure tiny staff must have known _something_. It could have traveled along, somehow. But that was not a very satisfying answer.

"You know a few things. Why should this interest me?" Again, he played stupidity and disinterest, even though he was overwhelmed with raging thoughts.

"Weren't you listening? An _exchange_. I think we should talk this over, consider our options, don't you? I have a heart-to-heart. Then again, I've never really expected a son of Hojo to be much for those sort of things. Might you prove me wrong?" The voice was mocking, but at the same time, teasing, as though daring the General to consider it. "I hope so. I wouldn't want _any_ of this to go to waste."

* * *

A/N: I feel like this was one of the better chapters, as far as content. Lots of stuff going on. Revelations! :D


	55. Ill At Ease

A/N: Chapter 55! I'm excited everytime we get to another chapter, because I love to hear what everyone thinks :D Thanks to my lovely reviewers: NicotineGum, Marezuls, BeeJang, CaseyAnn'sPrecious, Dame Nosferatu, kiralover44, CornCob, minoki, KT, OvenBased, Aldalena, whatevergirl, and Chicken Nova! So there seems to be a relatively common consenus: Jade's a bastard? You'll learn more about him later...and probably hate him worse.

* * *

It was early, and Vincent was exhausted.

They had been out and about base for hours, anticipating an attack that never came. Everyone had been on edge the entire night, leaving them all somewhat strained and jumpy from the lack of sleep. He had tried to comfort Cloud to the best of his abilities, but he felt so incredibly drained, and constantly found his mind wandering aimlessly through thoughts of his mentor.

The power outage was unexplained as was the explosion at the Labs, at least to the lower members of SOLDIER and the guard. None of their superiors had even made an any effort to lay the blame on something. That was why many of them, though sleep deprived, were alert and worried. They had no idea of what was to come, if anything.

Why had the power gone out? Vincent wasn't sure, but he had the feeling that something was amiss. Those wolf-like creatures...had they really been from the Labs? Or were they from somewhere else? If so, how had they been able to get on the base in the first place without anyone noticing their arrival? He didn't know, and he had the feeling that they might never find out. He would have to ask Sephiroth, if his mentor even knew anything about it. The man might not even tell him anything even if he was aware of what had gone on, which really wouldn't have surprised him, though it would be disappointing just the same. He wanted to be trusted by the General more than anything.

Cloud sighed beside him, sniffing quietly in the morning air. He was wearily looking around, long having ceased his tears, and finally overcome with a tiredness that showed in his slumped shoulders and bowed head. His rebellious blonde hair had been tamed somewhat from his hands smoothing it back unconsciously; now it was somewhat disheveled instead of wild.

The sun had crept over the horizon, setting it ablaze with oranges and yellows, and making the Third squint from its brightness. He was settling into a bleak numbness from his sleepiness, which made things slightly easier on him. His thoughts kept quieting for longer intervals, as they stood around, waiting. Even Chaos had remained silent.

The General appeared a few hours later, not long after they had been given orders to return to their quarters. Schedules had been canceled for the next two days, Vincent guessed, in case something else went wrong. There was a noticeable relief from all of the men, particularly the younger ones, but it was short lived due to the rare appearance of the General. The man had a tendency to make anyone nervous.

Even in their haze, everyone straightened considerably, and the formerly listless Cloud brightened somewhat.

"It's the General," the guard said quietly, watching as the man spoke to a few of the Firsts, Lazard at his side. The Third suddenly recalled that the boy had never seen the head of SOLDIER before.

Everyone was observing the exchange, curious as to whether or not they were going to get a short speech from the man that might shed light on what had occurred. They all waited patiently, but only Vincent noticed the strange look to the General's eyes, the stiff forced posture that wasn't quite normal.

Green eyes caught maroon for just an instant, a silent exchange that only the two involved noticed. The slits remained in him for a fraction longer than any other, and conveyed too many things for the Third to sort through in such a state. But one thing that was clear: Sephiroth knew he wasn't where he was supposed to be. Vincent swallowed nervously, but made no move to look guilty, only standing next to Cloud with a placid expression.

The eyes left him, and moved on. They went to the blonde next, who only grew apprehensive under the stare, though he was too interested to look away. Sephiroth seemed to examine the entire group before coming closer to them, separating himself from the crowding Firsts, who were in search of information, much like everyone else.

There was still the scent of smoke to the air, thought it had subsided somewhat, overcome by the smell of soggy, charred wood, and strangely, chemicals, mako to be precise. Vincent couldn't ignore those smells, his senses far too keen. It had already given him a dull, thrumming headache, but thankfully it wasn't too terrible, nothing but a vague annoyance that he easily ignored.

"As you are aware, there was a large power outage that struck not only the base, but virtually all of Midgar," Sephiroth stated, causing several of the men to glance up, surprised by the man's willingness to speak. The General rarely did, more the sort to keep quiet, merely watching from a distance rather than involving himself noticeably.

Sephiroth moved, advancing like a predator, sidestepping almost. His hands were held tightly behind his back, fingers laced neatly, hair swaying over his pauldron-covered shoulders. His inflection was flat, to the point of being inhuman, while his eyes were as lifeless as any corpse Vincent had seen. Though this was normal behavior for the man in public, he felt like he sensed something was off. Was there in fact, something wrong, or was he perhaps just imagining it? Was it stress?

He hated how when his mentor appeared, everything important seemed to fall away, leaving a core of obsessiveness. He was constantly trying to interpret how the man was feeling, and he despised himself for it. Sephiroth, though he had proven to be at least somewhat caring, he was also very distant. Chances were, he would never fully know what the man was thinking, or more specifically, what his intentions were.

Vincent berated himself for his distraction.

The blonde was watching in morbid fascination, nervous, but intent enough that he had suddenly stopped thinking about what had happened. He blinked a few times, unable to stop staring. The Third could relate to the feeling, as he had seen the General countless times, yet still could not stop himself from looking over the man in interest.

There was something about Sephiroth that was unique, not just the cat-like eyes, or even the hair and attire, but a sense of power that radiated from him, more forceful than any words could convey. It stopped some in awe, made enemies bristle, and for Vincent, it made his chest ache dully, as much as it was humiliating to admit to himself.

"The explosion is thought to have come from a short, which consequently caught the building on fire and ignited several mako tanks. There have been technical difficulties throughout the base. As such, I advise everyone to take any problems in stride; they will all be seen to and repaired shortly." The General gave a very curt inclination of his head before turning away, calm and emotionless as ever.

He moved through the Firsts, talking to each briefly, though none but the intended could hear what was being said.

"I can see why people are so afraid of him," Cloud said in a barely audible whisper.

Vincent only nodded, his gut twisting as he fingered the revolver heavy at his hip. He was frowning.

Something was off with his mentor. He also had a feeling he was going to be in a lot of trouble the next time he saw him face to face.

* * *

He spent hours in his barracks, trying to sleep through the incessant, apprehensive talking of his roommates. He had turned over repeatedly, frustrated and tired. He had even gone so far as to tell them all to quiet down, but they had only stared at him briefly before continuing again.

He kept thinking about his father, what the documents had said. All of them were still back in Sephiroth's apartment where he had left them. He regretted having to leave them behind, but in truth it was probably for the better. He knew he would do nothing but read over them until he memorized every word, had Hojo so ingrained in his memory that the scientist would come to represent the epitome of what it was to hate.

Refusing to cry again, he only closed his eyes, composing himself. The last thing he needed was to start sobbing in front of his squad mates, who would probably think he was just getting emotional over what had happened a few hours ago. They would probably even laugh, though he was sure they themselves were scared; their constant talking suggested that.

SOLDIERs were taught to loathe any show of weakness. Maybe that was why all of the older members had only glanced at Cloud as he cried. All of them would probably become cold like that; it was the way of things. But he didn't plan to let himself become that dark, even if things kept happening that made him want to fall back into himself, forget what it was to feel.

A lot of the Firsts had remained behind, he noticed, still on duty while the rest of them had downtime. It was amazing the differences between Firsts and even Seconds. When it came to comparing them to Thirds, there was no comparison. They were all treated completely different from one another. He looked forward to the day when he could be called a First would have more independence. It would also be nice not to be stuck in a room with a bunch of other boys.

The Third sighed, gazing in boredom at one of the Sephiroth recruiting posters. It was the same design as the one he had looked at through the darkness what seemed like ages ago. He had never thought those stupid fantasies would see the light of day....

"Vincent Valentine?"

He turned his head to whoever had addressed him, only to find another Third standing at the side of his bunk in full uniform. The teen was holding something in his hand, gripping it in uncertainty. The kid seemed somewhat familiar, but upon reading his name tag, Vincent still wasn't sure. His squad mates had ceased their conversation, interested suddenly in why the quietest member of the room had a visitor.

"Yes," he replied groggily, eyes focusing on the object.

"This is for you."

A cell phone was tossed onto his bed, landing near his stomach. The other Third retreated fairly quickly, before Vincent even had the chance to make some sort of response. He watched the teen leave, brow furrowed. No one had ever sent him anything before, at least not that he could recall.

"What'd he give you a phone for?" one of his roommates asked, having risen partially from the bed he had been reclining on.

"Don't worry about it," Vincent answered shortly.

He thought about it for a moment, before picking up the object in question, lazily slumping onto his back to examine it more closely, fingers tracing over it. He disregarded the others, something he was becoming very proficient at.

It looked like his phone, but he knew for a fact that it wasn't. It may have had his name etched in it in the same script, but he happened to have his old one in his pocket, one that he was sure probably didn't work anymore. Sephiroth had to have been the one that sent it to him; who else would send him a phone, particularly one that was the exact same design as the first one he'd received? He wondered offhandedly if the other Third might have forgotten to tell him something in his rush to deliver it.

On faith, he flipped it open, only to have a small bit of paper flutter down onto his chest. His frown deepened, as he held up, reading it silently. He didn't even notice that all of his bunkmates were looking at him still, one leaning over the top bed, engrossed.

His smile became broad. Then after a moment, he laughed a little, forgetting himself. The others in the room only grew confused, exchanging glances with one another, while Vincent kept smiling to himself.

It read, quite simply, "_Waterproof _".

* * *

Angeal sighed to himself, stopping just before he reached the door. He knew his student was on the other side.

Finally it had all reached the point where he no longer had the time to wait or prepare himself. Zack needed to know what was going on, and the man knew, there would be no stopping the teen from being a part of it. The Second would refuse to leave, somehow Angeal knew that. It made him smile slightly, even in his haze of disbelief and half-hearted acceptance.

He pushed the door open, carefully avoiding the discarded boots this time. Zack was stretched out on the bed flipping through the pages of some kind of biology book, hair on end. It only took a second before he dropped the tome on his chest and scowled at his mentor. There was a twitch at the corners of his lips, however, undermining the seriousness behind the expression.

"You know how boring it is here? It's like a funeral home," Zack said randomly, trying to sound irritable, though he was in fact quite happy to see his mentor again, even if he was a little angry with him. "The innkeeper isn't helping," he muttered, not bothering to give the Commander anymore attention. He pursed his book as distraction, though it was with even more disinterest than earlier.

Angeal could only shake his head, visibly upset, but still smiling, unable to stop himself. It was always a surprise to him how resilient his student was, and though he would never admit it aloud, he had always hoped that the teen's attitude about life would rub off on him somewhat.

"I need to talk to you about a few things," he said softly, solemnly. "It's about what we're doing here."

"Oh, so I guess I finally am worthy enough to know?" the Second answered, exhaling theatrically. "Or did Genesis say it was okay?" He was grinning from behind his book, though he definitely was a little annoyed at being so left out of the mission he had been assigned to. Still, it was always fun to mess with Angeal.

"It's not just about Genesis anymore,"Angeal responded, slowly sitting down onto the edge of his own bed.

Zack looked up from his book, visibly confused. He had only just noticed the dark lines to his mentor's face, the dullness of his usually bright, intelligent eyes. It pulled him partially from his playfulness. He sat up more seriously, forgetting completely about the book in his lap. "What do you mean?"

The Commander watched his student intently. "You know there has been a lot going on."

"Yeah...with Genesis, which is why we're here, right?"

"That was why Shinra sent us here, but not why I came, though I think you know that already. Genesis may be reckless at times, but what he did went even beyond that. I accepted the mission to get answers. It wasn't until I spoke with him that everything started to make sense."

"What made sense, the reason he went psycho on Sephiroth?" the Second prompted, sounding half amused, though the look on Angeal's face was enough to make a little ice crystal take hold in his stomach. He realized it probably wasn't the best of situations for banter of any kind; his mentor was being very serious.

"Yes, among other things." There was a pause, the Commander gauging his student. "Genesis is dying, Zack," he said blatantly.

It took a moment for a response to come. "Dying? What do you mean, dying? How do you know?" Blue eyes became stormy, confused.

"Hollander found evidence to support that Genesis is degrading. His cells are dying at an increased rate. That's why he came here, to Icicle Inn. He wanted to find Gast, find out if there was anything that could be done about it," Angeal explained in a whisper, his expression only half showing just how affected he truly was by it all.

"Why would you believe Hollander?" Zack asked incredulously. He had never trusted any of the scientists, even Hollander, the one who gave him his mako injections. They all just had a way about them that he didn't quite like. Sneaky, was the word for it.

"Gast has confirmed it as well. And you've seen Genesis for yourself; even his hair is greying and he is growing physically weaker day by day."

"So, this degrading...it's going to kill him is what you're saying?"

"Slowly, yes. Gast has been trying to find a way to slow it down, even cure it, but unfortunately many of his ideas have fallen short."

The teen frowned, sighing loudly. He didn't exactly like the First, but that didn't mean he wanted him to die. He was Angeal and Sephiroth's friend, after all, even if he was an ass a lot of the time. He could only imagine how his mentor was feeling about it. He knew he wouldn't be too happy if one of his friends had been given the equivalent of a death sentence. He felt terrible suddenly.

"Well, what caused it?" he questioned, his good mood having noticeably faded.

"We don't know. But that's the other thing I need to talk to you about. There's a lot more to this, many things that you aren't going to like," Angeal said quietly. "Things that I don't like, for that matter," he murmured.

* * *

Vincent tiredly climbed the seemingly never-ending staircase, nonetheless quite thankful for an excuse to be away from the noisy, crowded barracks. He wasn't completely looking forward to seeing Sephiroth, but he certainly wasn't dreading it. The man was truthfully the only person that could give him any solace, even if he was the crux of nearly every one of his problems. The irony of it all was incredible.

He had gotten a text about fifteen minutes earlier, asking him to come up to his mentor's rooms. He wasn't sure what to think about it, wondering if Sephiroth was going to scold him, or if he simply wanted to talk. Something had definitely been off earlier, but even if there was a problem, he didn't really believe that the man would come to him with it. As much as he hated to admit it, his mentor didn't need him, particularly when it came to his personal problems.

It didn't seem to take long to get to the door he was searching for. He stood at it awkwardly for a moment, glancing around, only to discover yet again, that the hall was completely empty. Just as his right hand went to knock, the door opened abruptly, revealing a sliver of the General's face. It opened all the way, Sephiroth sidestepping, saying nothing.

Vincent went inside without being prompted, only watching as the man shut the door and locked it with that easy grace that seemed to come far too naturally.

"You left your squad," Sephiroth stated immediately, brushing past the boy.

"Yes."

His mentor moved to the couch with the vague whisper of leather, taking his time. He did not sit however, only resting a gloved palm on the plush material. He was quiet for a long moment, green eyes flicking over the Third's face, but concentrating on his eyes for the most part, as though dissecting them.

"Because of a guard?"

"Cloud—he's Zack's friend," Vincent answered softly, noticing the strange glimmer in the assessing eyes.

"And also your friend," the General observed.

"I guess we are friends now," the Third affirmed, realizing that it was true, even if they barely knew one another.

"You killed several monsters as well, or so I've heard. I assume that is also true?"

"Yes." He felt like he was under interrogation, Sephiroth's flat voice making him uncomfortable because it felt so impersonal.

"Do you remember what I told you before you left, Vincent?" the man questioned, with the barest hint of a smile. It was one that could be considered mocking.

The Third only nodded, beginning to regret showing up at the man's apartment. He couldn't stand the coldness; it was driving him mad. He wasn't just some random SOLDIER, his mentor knew him, yet they still had those moments where the General acted as though they were complete strangers.

Sephiroth straightened, blinking almost mechanically. "I went against procedure and showed favoritism by personally assigning your squad to the area least likely to be attacked. You go against my orders and go directly to the danger zone, to follow a guard, yes?"

The boy swallowed at the confession, biting back a smile. Suddenly things were starting to look very different. Had the man actually been worried that he would get hurt? It seemed so unlike the General, that he was taken aback, throughly surprised. Yes, Sephiroth tried to ensure he wasn't hurt, but doing something so human, showing something like _favoritism_, as he had put it, it made the boy want to reevaluate the man.

"He was nervous, I thought that maybe if I went with him he wouldn't be so worried," Vincent admitted.

"You did not heed what I said."

"I—you know I can't just leave people to their own devices like you do," the Third asserted. "You said to obey but always question, that's what I did. I wouldn't change it either. Or maybe you meant question everyone else but you?" he added somewhat angrily, though his stomach was knotting at the thought of his mentor looking out for him, damning the consequences. The softer, more caring side of him was holding on tightly to that idea.

Sephiroth's eyes narrowed, the second show of reaction during the entire conversation. "Of course you can question my orders, but there are some which I _expect_ you to obey. Yes, you have freewill, you may go against what I say, but do not ever assume that there will be a lack of consequences for it. When I offer advice to you, or give you an order, there is a reason for it. I would not tell you something that you are already aware of."

"Would you be angry if I disobeyed someone else, or just you?" he enquired, not quite liking how the man had worded his answer.

The General sighed, his hand clenching unconsciously on the material beneath it. Admitting emotion, feelings, was his equivalent to the ultimate humiliation. It was weakness to him, even if he did not see it in that light when others showed such things openly. He had different standards for himself.

"Know that when I ask something of you it is be I care for you; I have your well-being in mind. Others may not always have such kind intentions, though if you were to disobey Angeal it would be no different from showing disrespect to me."

Vincent nodded grudgingly, placated somewhat. He hated how controlling his mentor was, but somehow he knew the man would not be the same if it was otherwise. He simply wouldn't be Sephiroth. His constant involvement with everything around him, always so discreet that it was as though he wasn't there, it was reassuring, even if it was infuriating at times.

"Did I come here for this lecture?" he asked, truly curious.

"No," the man answered, for the first time looking visibly strained. His green gaze fell over bits of random furniture, avoiding the boy who was still standing near the door. "In fact, I don't know why I called you here," he admitted.

* * *

A/N: This was a chapter of hints. I didn't want to give Sephiroth's thoughts away completely, but instead just suggest them.


	56. Roles Reversed

A/N: This is a long chapter, hence the delay. I just didn't want to stop it at a bad spot. Expect typos, friends. Thanks to my reviewers! I still love you, even if I am a slacker! Thanks to: NicotineGum, Marezuls, hrv, BeeJang, kiralover44, -CNFB-, ChickenNova, CornCob, tokidokilove, WingsOfFate, Dame Nosferatu, CaseyAnn'sPrecious, KT, OvenBased, Risikaa, and whatevergirl !

* * *

Vincent frowned at that answer, not quite sure what to make of it. Sephiroth didn't know? Something about that just didn't ring true. The man _always_ knew why he did things, or at least that was what he had always assumed.

There was a tense lapse in conversation, the General examining the boy as though he had never seen him before. Green eyes were darkened somewhat, perhaps from thought, traveling from feature to feature as though in avoidance. The distance between them, both physically and mentally appeared wider than ever.

Something was off. Sephiroth was behaving strangely; there was nothing about the silence that was comfortable as it usually was. The man seemed poised to say something, yet he remained introverted, quiet.

"You don't know?" Vincent asked, just for an excuse to say something. He could smell the smoke in his own hair, and his head still thudded dully with the headache from earlier, but everything faded away to the background, inconsequential.

Sephiroth smiled, not in any way happily. It was a mechanical gesture, one that made the Third's pulse quicken in agitation.

"Are you okay? I feel like something's wrong," the boy said quietly, not sure whether or not to be irritated or frightened.

"There is nothing wrong, Vincent," the man stated, finally.

He meticulously peeled one of his gloves off, walking around the couch and discarding it on the end table. The other one was removed as well, Sephiroth only staring at it blankly, as though he was elsewhere.

"Do you...." The boy paused, slightly nervous suddenly from the way his mentor was acting. If something was getting to the man, well...it couldn't be good. "Do you want me to leave?" he finished.

One of the elegant, long-fingered hands went to the man's forehead, rubbing at it almost unconsciously, digits lacing through silver strands. "No," he responded curtly.

Suddenly the General was assessing him again, trying to decide something, he guessed. His mouth opened as though he was going to say something, but instead he only shook his head of extremely long hair, hands going back to his face, running over it roughly, the nails leaving behind white trails in some places that quickly reddened.

His arms dropped to his sides very abruptly. "I will not hurt you this time," the man said softly. "Just come here."

Vincent let out a shaky breath, feeling his pulse pick up again. His stomach was clenching terribly, becoming light, making him feel almost panicky. He looked away for minute, knowing that if he caught his mentor's gaze he wouldn't really have a choice; his feelings would choose for him.

Was it a good idea? A bad idea? He thought he knew what it meant. What else could it possibly mean? Sephiroth was always thinking about sex, something he had never even realized before, or even suspected. The General seemed like he was so beyond everything that he wouldn't have those types of urges.

There seemed to be two sides to it, the logical part telling him that it was going to hurt, maybe not physically, but mentally, for certain. He knew in some part of himself, that it was all going so much farther than it ever should have. His constant worrying about the man was not a good sign. He was getting to the point where he _needed_ Sephiroth, and being pushed aside again would be worse than nearly anything that could happen to him.

On the other hand, he didn't want to think about anything. His mentor was the one distraction that made everything fall to the wayside, utterly unimportant instantaneously. Cloud, his father...so much had happened. He didn't want to go back to the barracks and think about it, unable to sleep because of the apprehension of the others. He was sure the man could use a similar distraction, if his strange behavior was any sort of hint.

"I don't know," he responded honestly.

He realized then, that there was something very similar between every occasion his mentor had asked him about...it. Sex. He often said 'come here', like an order, yet he physically had to walk over to the man. Like a test. It was his choice, but Sephiroth seemed all to aware that the allure was almost undeniable for his student.

The General came toward him anyway, his coat still completely unbuckled, flapping against his bare chest. The Third could only watch, not backing away, but not giving in right away either. He already knew he was doomed; he couldn't say no.

They only stared at one another, Sephiroth unreadable. There was tiredness to the boy's face, his ebony hair fuller than usual from the way it had dried. His maroon eyes were wide, questioning, though the shyness that had been so overwhelming the first time he had approached him, appeared to have worn away given current circumstances and a vague experience with the matter.

"You can say no."

"Yeah, I know," Vincent answered, one of his hands traveling to the leather. His fingers pulled at one of the buckles, the gauntlet's metal tinging metallically against it.

"So say it, if you mean it," the man prompted, eyes glimmering again. It was almost a dare.

"Yes," the boy replied, smiling, looking up at his mentor who was still painfully taller than him, much to his dismay.

Sephiroth showed no surprise at the answer, as though he had expected it completely, though in fact he hadn't.

Like the first time, the Third felt the familiar swell of bravery overcome him. It was a surge of power, one that compelled him to let his right arm travel underneath the thick leather, his fingers finding their way around the older man's waist until he was nearly embracing the warm body. Sephiroth only stared down at him, transfixed, the barest of smiles present. He did not look well, strained, perhaps as tired as Vincent felt.

He was playful, unable to help himself from feeling around a little, not even blushing as his fingertips skimmed over the broad, muscled back, down to the point where it all narrowed and disappeared into more leather. It wasn't as though he hadn't thought about doing it a thousand times, and now that he was able to do what he wanted, it made him feel somewhat in control. He concentrated completely on what he was doing, though the gesture was almost chaste. It was the exact sort of distraction he needed. Yes, it would all come back once it was over, but it would be gone, for just a little while.... No Hojo to tear to shreds.

Sephiroth appeared to like it, looking almost amused, though it was still dimmed by whatever was going on inside his head. The boy smiled at him again, fiddling with the hidden belt, feeling foolish but willing all the same. He pulled it loose, examining it for a moment before he dropped it to the floor. The man's hand's were exploring his hair and neck as seemed to be their custom. He enjoyed it because it felt personal; it wasn't distant as everything else generally was.

He didn't take his time unbuttoning the leather pants. Letting his fingers push under the material, he dragged them down slowly, already feeling the smoothness of the skin and the heat coming from it. He bit at his lip when he had the leather bunched above the man's knees, just above his boots.

"Why don't you unbuckle those for me," Sephiroth stated, though it definitely sounded like an order.

"Okay," he murmured, trying not to gape at just how exposed his mentor really was. It was a bit difficult to ignore what was directly in front of him.

The man seemed to be enjoying his slight discomfort, an absolutely predatory expression on his face, as his student proceeded to kneel and unfasten the metal in an almost servile way. But the boy didn't seem to mind it all too much, eyes flicking to the erection that he was deliberately shying away from, given that it wasn't far from his face. In a way, he wanted to tease his mentor; it was only fair. But the urge to reach out and touch, or...even....

Vincent averted his gaze, pulling down on a boot as the man removed them. The tall shoes were discarded on the floor alongside the belt, leaving the General in nothing but his coat and pauldrons. He worked on those next, however, apparently not for taking his time. He shrugged them off finally, moving closer to the couch, where he deposited them neatly on an armrest. The coat was peeled off as well, then strewn atop the pauldrons haphazardly. The man only watched him intently, making no advances, waiting, entirely naked.

The Third wasn't quite sure what to do, but moved closer anyway, letting himself look over what he wanted; he planned on remembering later.

"Sit," he said, not believing he was saying it.

He was even more surprised when his mentor did not question him. The man reclined onto the couch easily, silver hair stark against the fabric. His legs were parted slightly as he adjusted himself, his cock all the more apparent.

Vincent felt himself breathing a lot heavier, his pants becoming a little too tight. There was no use hiding it, and he didn't want to. He walked slowly, weighing his options all the while as he tried in vain to tear his gaze away. It was one of his most demented fantasies come to life; making it almost painful to breathe.

He propped himself on the coffee table finally, his knees nearly touching Sephiroth's. He wanted to get on the floor, but he was also enjoying the idea of telling the man what to do, if he would listen, that was. It was not an opportunity he was willing to pass up, given that it didn't seem like that willingness would be around forever.

* * *

"I don't get it. What are you saying?" Zack questioned, voice heightening a little in pitch.

His mentor was trying to tell him something, but he didn't want to take it for what it was. What it was spelling out. He _did_ get it, or he had a suspicion that he did. Angeal had just explained the vague details of this Jenova, then of Project G. Basically, taking matter from a person infected with the Jenova cells, then putting those cells into others, from what he had managed to gather.

"I'm saying that Genesis and I, we are...both a product of Project G," the Commander explained, his expression pained. "My mother was the 'G', Gillian. Her cells were passed down to me through the womb and also injected into Genesis. It's what's causing his degradation, according to Gast."

Zack had gotten up from where he was seated, blue eyes bright, but not with joy. His arms had crossed over his chest automatically, an unconscious habit he had gained from spending so much time around his mentor, or perhaps it was the other way around.

"So...what, you're.... What does it mean though? What is Jenova? You said she's not a Cetra or whatever, so what is she exactly?"

"I'm not sure, Zack," Angeal answered honestly. "Gast says she arrived from another place, another planet. In that sense, I would call her an alien for lack of any other relevant term."

"So you mean Hollander went and stuck alien matter into both of you?" the Second said blatantly.

He was talking with his hands, something he did when nervous. He had already begun to walk around the side of his bed, constantly looking over at the other man. He was nearing hysterics, something his mentor had never seen him do.

Angeal sighed, staring down at his hands. "Yes, if you want to put it bluntly."

The teen paused in his pacing, turning back to watch the Commander. "So your mom allowed it? Went through with it? Let them do that to you?"

"Yes."

The Second was shaking his head, raking his fingers through his unruly hair. "I knew that Hojo and Hollander did things, with mako, with experiments.... But how could they do that Angeal? What if it would have killed you both or something? And it's killing Genesis...."

"Apparently that wasn't something that bothered them at the time," the Commander responded darkly. "Hollander, from what Genesis told me, wasn't too concerned with it now either. If Gast does not find a cure or something else to slow the degradation...I don't think Hollander will be much help."

"But he has to know! He did it, didn't he? How could someone test things on people—babies no less—without knowing anything about it?"

"That's the way they are, Zack. They don't care. Shinra doesn't care."

The last statement made the Second surprised, though in that moment he realized just how true it was. But Angeal saying it, of all people.... Honor and dreams? Wasn't that was being in SOLDIER was for him? Did he not believe in it anymore?

"Are you gonna leave SOLDIER?" he asked suddenly, looking worried.

The Commander was quiet, only returning his student's steady gaze for a few seconds. "What they did is unforgivable. I don't know if I could continue with my job knowing what I do now, the extent of it. If what Gast says is true, then the President endorsed the research, wholeheartedly."

"I can't stay if you go," Zack said quietly. "It wouldn't be the same without you there. And if they were doing all of this...." The teen scratched at his black hair in apprehension, staring down at the carpet distractedly. "I just couldn't; it wouldn't be right. But Vincent, and that kid Cloud I told you about. And what about Sephiroth? I don't want to leave them. Besides, I was just starting to like the stoical bastard," the teen said with a vague smile and attempt at humor.

"I know, there is a lot to think about. Nothing is for sure yet, alright? But that's still not what I was getting at." The Commander closed his eyes for a moment, taking in a soothing breath, trying to brace himself for what he was going to have to tell his student.

"What were you getting at then?"

"It's not just Genesis. Hollander was going to use my cells as a blueprint for fixing him, but when he started the preliminary testing, he discovered something," the man explained, knowing the Second would interrupt him.

"Wait..." Zack's hands were pulling at his hair, then smoothing it back, completely without his knowledge. "What do you mean?" it sounded childlike, desperate. The glowing blue eyes were already wavering, getting glassy.

"I'm degrading," the Commander replied, muscled arms stiff on either side of his body, hands digging into the mattress. "We're both dying."

"But...no," the teen protested weakly. "It's just Genesis, not you. There's nothing wrong with you; you don't look any different. You haven't lost any of your strength...."

"It's not as severe with me as it is with Genesis, but it's still happening. Gast has given me sixth months, Genesis only has two, if that," Angeal explained, his face etched with lines.

The Second was shaking his head. "No," he said, though it had the undertone of defeat to it. "Gast, what if he's lying?" A couple of rebellious tears had already streaked down the teen's face, but he seemed entirely unaware.

"Why would he lie? There's no reason to," his mentor answered in hopelessness. "We will stay here for awhile, let him conduct his research. If he can't do anything, we will find someone else, even go to Hollander if necessary."

"You can't go back to Hollander!" the teen said with certainty, looking stricken and horrified. "He almost killed you already. Find someone else."

Zack slumped onto his bed, wiping at his face, trying to not look at the man sitting across from him.

How could this be happening? How could Angeal, one of the strongest people he knew, possibly be dying?

"This is all crazy. Alien cells? What if it is all just made up, Angeal? What if they lied to you? Maybe you're not dying at all...."

"How many SOLDIERs do you know who can carry the Buster Sword, let alone use it? How many are able to do what Genesis and I are capable of?" the Commander asked logically, knowing what his student must be feeling, all the doubts, the same ones he himself had to overcome.

The Second was shaking his head in denial again. "Sephiroth," he responded. "He can do more than both of you, yet he isn't some experiment and he isn't degrading."

Angeal did not like that answer. It was something that had crossed his mind many times in the last several hours. Why was Sephiroth so strong? Why was it that all three of them had been drawn together as they had, the best of SOLDIER? He did not like to boast, but he was aware that his strength was abnormal, even going by mako enhanced men as a comparison. He could do things that many never dreamed of doing, but the General....

His eyes. The silver hair. Angeal had begun to think that he and Genesis may not have been the only experiments Shinra had walking around the base. If it was true though, why had Gast not said anything about it? Was Sephiroth, like them, part of Project G, perhaps its greatest specimen? He hated that word, but what else were they? He didn't even have a word besides 'alien' to describe the being whose cells tainted both his and Genesis's bodies.

Sephiroth was abnormal, more so than any of them. His past was something Angeal knew almost nothing about besides the occasional admittance from his friend. It had been a lonely childhood, that much he knew. But was he too an experiment, or was he simply gifted? His eyes weren't like any he had ever seen, but he knew to that mako could cause bizarre side effects in some people. As far as he was aware, he had never even met Sephiroth before he had been enhanced. The silver hair could be part of it as well. It seemed like too many coincidences, however. But if they were all part of Project G, why did neither he or Genesis show any physical abnormalities?

There were a lot of questions unanswered. He didn't like that secrets were beneath everything, undermining each thing he had believed so strongly in before. Everything was weakening, dying, all because of Shinra, because of something called Jenova.

"But there is no one else who compares, is there?" Angeal asked, though it was more a statement. "There is something different about Genesis and I, there always was. I can't see any reason for someone to go to so much trouble to construct such a twisted lie. There may be more to this, but I don't have the time to worry about it. The only thing I can do for now is to keep checking in with Gast, try to help Genesis. He could die Zack," the Commander said sadly. "I don't want to allow that to happen."

* * *

Sephiroth was observing him intently, like a silent predator. One of his arms was laying across the top of the sofa, making him appear more relaxed than the Third could ever remember seeing him. Yet there was nothing relaxed about it. The green eyes were stormy, conflicted, and the muscles in his thighs were clenched, but not from any arousal. He was somewhere else, Vincent realized, which was why he was being so complacent.

He wasn't sure if he liked it at all. He wanted Sephiroth to be a part of it, not just a body, yet in the last few minutes, he had gone farther away, only half acknowledging that his student had crawled into his lap and was straddling him, though still fully clothed. His gauntlet was discarded on the table so that he could touch at his leisure.

"What's going on?" Vincent asked seriously, eyes flicking to the soft hair that he had between his fingers. He could feel Sephiroth's erection against one of his legs, even through the material of his pants.

The man didn't look at him at first, almost as though he hadn't heard. Just when the boy was about to repeat himself, there was an answer. "Someone said something that I did not like."

"And you keep thinking about it?" the Third questioned, kissing lightly at the corner of his mentor's mouth.

"Yes."

"It must have been important," the boy observed, more than a little interested. He often wondered what sort of things could in any way haunt someone who seemed so in control all of the time. It was almost as though Sephiroth was incapable of letting things get to him.

"No, it wasn't. It was just foolishness. Struck a nerve, one that I do not like to mull over. Forget it."

Vincent let out a stubborn sigh. "Not if you won't."

Without warning, the General grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, bringing them even closer together than they already were. Instead of the harsh reprimand the boy had expected, the man only smiled. He pushed his face into the boy's neck, his lips tracing over the skin. The Third had stilled completely, shocked by the strange display of gentleness that seemed so out of place.

Instead of kissing him, or nipping at his neck, the man did nothing overtly sexual, only emphasizing their nearness with his warm breath and slight movements that caused their skin to touch. Vincent found himself a little breathless, slowly moving his hands underneath the veil of thick hair until he had both arms loosely encircled around his mentor's shoulders. He didn't bother to question whether or not the man would get angry; he would do it regardless.

It would have been an embrace, had Sephiroth's hands not begun to travel. The boy stared at him, as his pants were tugged at harshly, undone hurriedly. The man paused. They only locked gazes for several seconds, speaking without words. The General looked almost needy, in a way he had never seen before. He seemed hurt and tired, as though he was suffering from whatever was going on inside. It made Vincent want to get closer, as his chest ached in empathetic response.

The boy continued what Sephiroth had started, yanking his pants down all the way, his action the answer to the man's silent question. He awkwardly kicked his boots off with a thump, not even bothering to look where they had landed, too intrigued by the way he was being examined.

His lower half was nude, but he didn't blush or get embarrassed; the man had seen him at his worst as it was, and for some reason, he really wanted it. The time spent being so physically apart had gotten to be more taxing than he had realized, as his hormones seemed to have upped in intensity since the first encounter, even though it hadn't been entirely pleasant. He could feel his excitement building, not just arousal, but something else he wasn't familiar with.

Fingers grabbed at his hips, urging him closer. "Do you want me to slow down?" Sephiroth enquired.

The boy shook his head, somehow too impatient to wait. He just hoped it didn't hurt, and that it was different like the man had said it would be. If it wasn't...he would stop it this time. He couldn't let it be like that again. He pulled off his shirt quickly, disentangling himself from it before tossing it to the side.

Instead of Sephiroth initiating it, he moved himself forward, letting the man's cock slide wetly between his legs. His mentor moved a little, slouching almost, leaning back farther into the cushions. He was watching in interest, though he still appeared strained, troubled. But his fingers were rubbing on Vincent's legs, sliding up them slowly.

The boy squatted more, unsure of himself, but finding the warm erection blindly with one of his hands. The feeling of it, the dampness at the tip, almost made him moan. He clumsily tried to get it where he wanted, twisting his arm somewhat. Sephiroth seemed to take it as a cue to help, and grabbed onto himself, using his other free hand to guide the boy's thighs.

Vincent let out a very heavy breath, as he felt the man find the opening, barely touching it. He instantly realized his mistake when he relaxed somewhat, feeling the slight pressure and the friction between their skin.

"Shouldn't we...use something?"

"Do you want to stop and go get it?" Sephiroth asked, a hint of a smile gracing his lips.

"Not really...."

Hands pushed on his thighs with a little more force, and Vincent winced, feeling a slight burning, though he was anticipating more. The man wasn't inside him, simply pushing against him. The General was truly smiling, amused.

"Does it hurt?"

"Kind of."

One of the long-fingered hands wrapped around his cock suddenly, possessively, making him gasp. "It won't in a minute."

When the hand started to move lightly, he closed his eyes somewhat. It traced over his length, firm, but gentle, testing. It slowly began moving back and forth, finding a hesitant rhythm, still experimental, as though trying to draw him in, discover what made him writhe the most. He couldn't help but watch Sephiroth intensely. The man was barely blinking, lips parted the tiniest fraction. It was different than doing it himself because it lacked predictability.

Soon, he found himself moving forward, his breathing becoming uneven, the head of his cock slipping up against the firm stomach in front of him at times. He moaned when Sephiroth squeezed somewhat, his sticky hand rubbing and caressing.

The feeling started to become maddening, the man's erection moving between the skin, a little wet, as the hand latched onto him. He found himself pushing back and downward somewhat, just to feel more pressure. Sephiroth was holding onto himself with his other hand, keeping it in place, making sure it was hitting exactly where he wanted it to.

The man seemed to be waiting for something, though he was getting full enjoyment out of making the boy squirm, observing as pale hips thrust forward to feel the grip better, but also trying to move down onto the hardness in a horribly innocent way. The moans weren't as quiet, becoming all the more sweeter with each passing moment.

Vincent almost unconsciously began to push down with more vigor, enough that he let out a louder groan when he felt himself open enough for the head to shove its way inside, invading him.

His mentor's hand became more insistent, easing the feeling of discomfort away, so that it almost wasn't there. There was some confusion on Vincent's part, when he realized what he had done, and how good it had felt. The strange combination of the pain with the pleasure had fused into one for that instant, taking him aback as it had the first time. He wasn't sure if he would ever understand how it worked.

Experimentally, the boy moved down, letting his knees take all of his body weight, while he had his hands braced behind him on the bit of couch between the man's legs. This time, the General made a sound, deep from his chest, as he was allotted a few more inches. There was a lot of tension, everything rubbing harshly, but feeling far too pleasant than seemed possible.

Sephiroth had not stopped his ministrations, tending to the boy, who proceeded to lower himself further, his hair falling away from his face as he leaned back onto his arms, face flushed from the sudden blossoming of feeling.

Then he started to move, pushing forward and down. There wasn't much to lubricate the movement, making it burn somewhat, but Sephiroth was beginning to show his need for the contact, free hand encouraging him with none-to-subtle instructions. His mentor's hips started to thrust upward without warning, forcing until Vincent was nearly sitting on them, feeling the sensation of fullness that had the edge of pain to it when it went too far.

There was a bit of wincing for a moment, but it didn't take long for the man to ease off somewhat, attentive to what he was doing. They became comfortable with one another fairly quickly, both falling into familiarity from how personal it was. It was funny when Vincent thought about it, but they had grown accustomed to working with one another, and it seemed to extend to everything they did. There was an understanding that didn't have to be discussed; it was simply known, felt.

Soon, Vincent was moving erratically, feeling the wonderful building of pleasure that was starting to spike—it wouldn't take long for it to gather until breaking point. The man below him was just as lost as he was, trying to focus on what his hand was doing, while still shoving into the boy with enough roughness to keep them both interested. Sweat started to appear on his muscled chest, starting at the collarbone, where it trailed downward.

The Third let out a louder sound, pushing harder into the man's hand. He nearly stopped moving, settling on Sephiroth as far down as he was physically capable. One of his hands fisted at the man's legs, as he tried in vain to get even closer, grinding down onto the hard body below him.

Everything tightened spasmodically as he cried out, leaning back. He came into the warm hand that gripped at him, throughly enjoying the feeling of resistance from it. His mentor nearly growled at the sensation, eyes closing briefly as the boy clenched down on him inadvertently.

It was over in a few moments, Vincent left panting. He was sitting down finally in total, instant and overwhelming laziness, chest heaving. The man only gathered most of the mess in his hand, cleaning the boy for the most part.

He toyed with it between his fingers for a few moments, his student watching. The man smiled at his own gesture, knowing that it brought up old memories for them both. The hand then slid down between them, with intent. Understanding, the boy lifted his lead-like body up somewhat to allow for better access, eyes blinking blearily. Sephiroth applied the wet stickiness to them both, smoothing it over himself for the most part, however.

The Third let out a sigh when he was able to move back down a little, more uncomfortable without the constant stimulation.

"Let me do it," Sephiroth said breathlessly, urging the boy with his hands to get onto his knees again.

The fingers wrapped around his hips pressing down until the skin whitened. The General adjusted himself more comfortably on the couch, freeing his formerly trapped hair so that it wasn't pinned underneath him. Then, without any further warning, he shoved himself upward, letting out a pleasurable groan.

Vincent, who had been entirely in his own world, was finally able to watch the man without distraction. Even the vague unpleasantness did not detract from what he saw. The green eyes were half-lidded as his mentor began to thrust regularly, almost desperately. The boy placed his hands lightly on the stomach that kept rising up to him, letting his fingertips run over the soft, heated skin.

It wasn't as enjoyable as it had been, but it still felt quite good, and having the opportunity to observe the General uninterrupted made it more so. There was no guardedness to his mentor's expression, only lust, which seemed to overtake him like a sickness, slicking his skin with sweat. He could feel the filminess of it on his fingers. He didn't even try to move, knowing he would only get in the way. Not to mention, he wasn't sure if he _could_ move; he felt pleasantly exhausted and was more than willing to let Sephiroth reach a similar state.

The hands kept forcing him apart, pulling at the flesh of his legs, almost massaging. There wasn't the animal brutality that had been there the first time; this was completely different. Sephiroth wasn't doing it as hard as he could, but instead as fast as he could, as though it wasn't happening quickly enough to satiate his desire for it. He was making noise as well, not just the hurried breaths, but something more akin to what Vincent knew he himself made. Almost a whimper, almost a moan.

It wasn't what he had expected. The green eyes never looked away from his, clouded over with a jumble of thoughts, of feeling. The whole chest became rigid with tension, even the veins of the man's neck pulsing beneath the skin.

There was so much more to it. Sephiroth was truly seeing him, not looking beyond him in that cold way that he was so inclined to. He didn't feel like nothing but a body, he felt as though the man was psychologically involved, which he had been doubtful of originally. His mentor seemed to be enjoying the contact as much as he did, the way they were closer than they ever were.

Then the movement became more rushed, less rhythmic. Vincent himself was moaning, rubbing at whatever was close enough to him, immersed in the feeling of contact. The General was tense everywhere, eyes closing more often as he kept taking what he wanted.

Finally, the man faltered a few times, almost fumbling. His hands were insistent on the boy's hips, tugging at him possessively. Then he penetrated fully, as far as he was able to go, expression becoming pained, as the Third only moved his legs a little further apart, to make it easier. There was a loud exhalation of breath as Sephiroth finally finished, head turning to the side as though it was too much to bear. There was a brief glimpse of white teeth, as the tightened muscled relaxed quite abruptly.

Green eyes closed, allowing for the moment of weakness in the face of tiredness, both mentally and physically. They came back to Vincent after several seconds away, examining him as was their custom. They darted his unusual maroon eyes, where they remained, penetrating, telling.

Vincent could feel the wetness between his legs, the sweat. But it was the look on the man's face said everything without words.

He realized with shock, that for once it was Sephiroth that _needed_, not him.

* * *

A/N: The first sex scene at the beach was to show Sephiroth's power over Vincent (as well as to make him seem somewhat villainous and sick for hurting something so innocent). You can definitely see the contrast with this chapter. Plus, I just needed to write smut. I'm not above admitting it. :D


	57. More Uncertainty

A/N: Thanks to everybody who took the time to review; it means a lot :D That would be: whatevergirl, WingsOfFate, Marezuls, kiralover44, hrv, BeeJang, tokidokilove, Dame Nosferatu, Aldalena, OvenBased, CaseyAnn'sPrecious, KT, NicotineGum, Valitiel, Saeth Ceirwyn, and Risikaa !

* * *

The feel of Vincent sleeping on top of him was both something comfortable and uncomfortable.

There was hardly an inch of the boy's face to be seen underneath the mess of black hair, which tickled at the General's chest. Arms were wrapped about him, something that had occurred after the Third had gone into a deeper, more satisfying sleep.

Exhaustion had finally overtaken the boy, though he had still managed to try and start a conversation, which the man had dismissed as kindly as he could, wanting to be left to his own thoughts for awhile.

Sephiroth stayed very still, listening to the breathing for a time, keeping his rampaging thoughts quiet as long as he was able. He tensed when surprisingly strong fingers grabbed at his chest, and the boy murmured something incomprehensible in his sleep, shifting his body somewhat, sliding skin against skin in a way that would have made anyone shiver.

The man sighed, closing his eyes for a moment, green eyes bloodshot and glassy. He still had not come to a proper decision. But it was not something he wanted to think about, in fact, he planned to ignore it until the last possible moment. He would make it on first impulse, not upon careful calculation for once. He knew what he wanted, and regardless of current circumstance and the several drawbacks, he would do as he pleased when the time came. He had time, enough, anyway.

But for the other things, what had been said.... Hojo. He could not seem to wrench the idea from his consciousness—like a splinter it sunk deeper and deeper, disturbing, haunting. Why did the claim make a disgusting sense to him? Upon first glance, the thought of Hojo as his father was laughable. It was as impossible and idea as the scientist being called sane. There was absolutely no truth to it....until he considered it.

It was intentional; that had been his initial reaction. The AVALANCHE member had used vague information about his upbringing in an attempt to lure him into a deal, to make it more agreeable. His dislike of Hojo had never exactly been a secret, even if he had been receiving treatments from the scientist all his life. Why would an enemy not use this against him to sow seeds of doubt about his own identity? Doing so could possibly impact everything, not exactly a bad strategy.

It was a personal attack; it all had been. The supposed information about Jade. Somehow he had missed something at the Labs, some of the more major information he had been searching for. He was loathe to admit it, but the man he had spoken with had been correct in his assumption that Vincent had been too much of a distraction.

One of his hands smoothed some of the raven-colored locks from the boy's closed eyes, as he examined him critically. It was still a mystery to him why he was so affected by his student. It wasn't anything incredibly serious or crippling, but it certainly was a distraction, one that seemed to be getting slightly worse with each passing encounter, something he would need to begin closely monitoring. It did not need to be allowed to grow further.

It had been like that with Genesis once upon a time, in the very beginning. In all honesty, he realized that his friend had been the only semblance of a relationship he had ever had. With Jade it was nothing but master and servant, and with every forgettable man and woman over the years, there had been absolutely no attachment in the least. Everything was always purely physical; he just never felt anything else, and he had come to accept it easily, given his problems with trust.

He was drawn to the little attempts at rebellion Vincent displayed from time to time. Like Angeal, the boy had a firm belief in right and wrong, and would follow that even before the duties required of him in SOLDIER. Sephiroth had long grown tired of thoughtless obedience, something he personally despised.

He had spent most of his young life obeying without ever straying because he had felt so incredibly trapped, and it had forever ingrained in him a disgust with being controlled and exploited for his skills. He had been unable to break away then, but times were different now, and he had evolved into the one to be feared.

He answered to no one if he so chose. SOLDIER was not just a job to him, but his life, the centerpiece to it all. It was what he was meant to be, and he would use his more questionable talents to extremes without consequence. In truth, he _was_ doing as he wanted, it was simply under the guise of the strict rigidity of Shinra.

But for once, it had all gotten to him. He felt _out_ of control. He could not stop thinking about what had been said. Trap or not, Hojo as his father made a horrible sense he didn't want to fully acknowledge. Things Jade had said long ago were returning to haunt him, subtle, yet vicious hints the man seemed to have given him. What was it he had used to say? 'The son of a madman is destined to be one?'.

It could all be imagined of course. What Jade had used to rile him when he was younger likely had nothing to do with any of it. But why had his teacher always acted as though he was aware of things his student was not? Sephiroth had always assumed that the man knew a lot about him, perhaps even his origins, given how easily he had been manipulated from the start. Jade did know something, though the older he had gotten the more he had considered that it was substantially less than what his teacher would have had him believe.

Jade always wanted leverage over people, him in particular. Why not pretend to know things? The man had always had intuition; he read people with a sickening ease. And though the General did not wish to admit to it, he had been a very vulnerable child, one that had been extremely similar to Vincent.

He had always pursued love, caring, always from the strongest people he could find. In his stupidity he had chosen the only suitable person around: Jade. Gast's attentions paled in comparison, for the scientist could not teach him about weapons and murder. But then, the new stranger could, and Sephiroth had latched onto him in a death-grip immediately, knowing that the more primal of knowledge was going to be his key to escape, to independence in his short, bleak life.

And the murder...it had been so difficult at first, not because the act was hard to accomplish—it wasn't—but because he could not accept his natural inclination toward it. How easy it was to watch the blood pool on the floor, that steady pump of a major artery that he swore he could hear pounding out red. He could _hear_ the heart stop, he could _see_ the dullness to the eyes, the glazing over.

He had discovered his inner demons. He had the same lust for killing that Hojo had, and he had embraced it, just as the scientist had, to the point where it was to him as essential as breathing. He could not go long without making a kill; it ate at him, consuming his thoughts, filling his nights with bloody, gored bodies, gaping mouths that screamed, those sounds always going silent as the blade slashed one final time, the death blow, the mortal wound....

Sephiroth closed his eyes tightly, feeling the thrumming of his heart through his chest. Just thinking about killing could cause an almost sexual reaction, one that bordered on unadulterated elation. The weight of Vincent resting fitfully on top of him, quelled the thoughts quickly, however. The boy looked vulnerable while sleeping, no frown to mar his features, no maroon eyes to stare at him in accusation, in hurt. The same way Genesis used to gaze at him, as though trying to probe him without words, to somehow make him feel something in return. Sadly, he never did.

Hojo...he couldn't stand the idea. It made him recoil in disgust. But now it had taken root, the most vile of paternities, so firmly in his consciousness. Who was more formidable than the scientist had been, but himself? The only other person who came to mind was Jade, and they were certainly not related. He had heard of no one but the older sorcerers and swordsman of Wutai, and he was almost sure he was not of the Wutai. But Jade must have been, if what the AVALANCHE member had claimed was in fact true.

Jade was blonde, not brunette. Most of the Wutai were dark haired and dark eyed, where his teacher had been quite the opposite, with light hair and icy blue eyes. His skin, however was darker, almost honey colored, tanner than he himself ever was, even when out on mission for months at a time in a hot climate. Most of the people in Midgar were like Vincent; pale, though not quite so much as the boy. He himself had a tendency to get light skinned when he wasn't constantly outdoors. But Jade, no matter how much time he spent in the Labs, never lightened. His hair was always in contrast with his skin, almost out of place, sometimes lightening even further at times, usually after extended periods away.

He was not full Wutai, but he could have possibly had some of those bloodlines within him. It did not seem entirely out of the question. It would explain where he had learned to use the sword; his techniques had always been more akin to a samurai than a mercenary, though it had certainly had its own unique aspects. Jade had always fought with stealth and power, rather than one or the other. It was probably the reason why Sephiroth himself had developed all of his skills to almost equal intensities, because of his teacher's constant ridicule on the subject. He had also taken to teaching Vincent in a similar manner.

The boy muttered something again, turning onto his side somewhat, his cheek rubbing over the chest underneath him, making his mentor's breathing hitch uncomfortably.

If anything, the General would venture to guess that the man had been half and half. One half Wutai, one half something else. But he had always suspected some sort of genetic enhancement. Jade had always been fast and strong, too much so. It seemed inhuman. Yet the man showed no signs of mako, or of anything. The only troubling physical abnormality had been his brittle hair. It had felt like a bristled horse mane, so unnaturally thick and harsh to the touch. Sephiroth had made the mistake of running his fingers thorough it once, in some stupid childish fantasy, imagining that maybe the man didn't mean it, any of it.... He had gotten over that rather quickly.

But the truth was, even with Hojo, likeness meant next to nothing. He could have had any father, and that man did not necessarily have to have the same lusts that he himself was distracted by. He could have been from anywhere, he just so happened to end up in a lab with a men he loathed, who both had a passion for brutal murder.

"Sephiroth?" Vincent blinked sleepily, raising his chin off of the man.

A hand ventured up his waist, tentative, soft. He could feel the Third's breath over his skin, warm and slightly wet. A heat spread through his body almost instantaneously, making his chest feel constricted with a very strong, relentless sort of desire.

"Go back to sleep," he ordered, forcing himself to sound more authoritative than he felt.

He had to resist the compulsion to go through the entire act all over again, and the sensation of his naked student wriggling to get more comfortable, was not improving matters any.

There was a tired annoyance on the Third's part, but he laid his head down regardless, eyes vaguely narrowed. The look vanished entirely, however, when one of his mentor's hands smoothed over his face for a moment. It traced his jaw briefly, rubbing at it, before disappearing again.

"You're thinking again," the boy observed through the silence, letting out a lazy breath that sent silver hair fluttering. "Tell me about it." The maroon eyes were almost hopeful, though tainted with sleep.

"No," Sephiroth answered flatly.

Vincent appeared to dislike the response, no longer bothering to make eye contact. He decided not to push, but his curiosity was far from sated.

The sound of his mentor's heartbeat was almost deafening to his sensitive ears, and he concentrated on it. He was surprised the man was tolerating their closeness, and for the most part, the General seemed to have no intention of getting up anytime in the near future.

He was glad that for some reason the General was much more complacent, but he couldn't shake the feeling that it might only be temporary, a side effect of whatever it was that had the man's complete attention for the moment. He hoped it wasn't. He hoped there was change.

* * *

The tension between Zack and Genesis was overwhelming. The Second had plenty of reason to be sullen, and the redhead was not helping, in fact serving to only muddy an already negative, dark viewpoint that the teen had been trying to keep hidden. Genesis, too, was in an unpleasant mood, an unfortunately common occurrence only exacerbated by bad circumstances.

The First seemed to thrive on causing discord, particularly between student and mentor. He made a show of his dislike for the younger SOLDIER, harshly reprimanding him for asking 'stupid, and altogether pointless questions' about everything that was happening. Angeal could only tell him to keep his opinions to himself, in turn making his friend turn the attacks onto him.

They were all on edge, the scientist in the corner only looking over to them, wary, unsure. Both of the two older SOLDIERs were required to be present; Gast was constantly taking samples and had the redhead hooked up to an unimaginable array of machines taking readings that Zack couldn't even begin to understand. Mako pH was not exactly his specialty.

Ever since Zack had shown up several hours earlier to stay with Angeal, the First had become an even worse companion. He was so self-absorbed at present that he was lashing out hurtfully nearly every opportunity. The Commander was very worried by the behavior, unsure if it was just stress or something else more serious. Whatever had gone on with Sephiroth had definitely had an impact, and now with the jealousy....

That was what it was. It had taken Angeal a short while to figure it out, but the things his friend said quickly revealed the vulnerability beneath the biting exterior. He hated to see him so overcome as he was, but there was a lot going on, and in the end he could not lay blame on Genesis; in fact, if anything, the First was taking it better than most ever would. He knew it would cause tension to bring his student into the picture, but he wasn't above admitting that they all needed Zack's positivity to get through any of it, that was if the other man didn't fully tear it out of him in the daunting process.

"Is it done?" Genesis questioned, lips drawn.

"Not just yet," Gast responded distractedly, eyes darting over the figures he had listed on a faded yellow notepad.

"So what exactly are you measuring?" Zack enquired, walking a few steps closer to examine what the scientist had written down.

His eyes traveled to the First who was watching him with a cruel gaze. He tried to ignore it, knowing that the man was just moody. Who wouldn't be? He was dying. As much as he didn't like Genesis, he couldn't really hate him for reacting like anybody would. But he was quickly getting tired of how the redhead seemed to force his way into every conversation, as though it was his right. He couldn't even talk to his mentor without hearing something from the First.

"The differences in both Angeal and Genesis's genetic makeup—I'm trying to find what makes their degradations different. With Genesis though, I'm gathering a lot of other information, trying to figure out how much mako he has in his system without treatment. Both of them have large natural stores of mako I've discovered, likely a side effect of the abnormal cellular structure caused by the addition of Jenova's cells."

"So you're saying they always have mako in their bodies? I thought all SOLDIERs did," the Second stated, expression one of confusion, though there was a certain tiredness to him.

"Well yes, some mako. Enough that even if they stop treatments they still always retain partial enhancement. But this is very different—they appear to be producing it for themselves in small amounts. This isn't just residuals of the chemical like it would be for any other enhanced person. And overall there appears to be about ten times as much 'natural mako', I guess we will call it, in their bodies at any given time in comparison with a typical SOLDIER. Though of course, those numbers could be different now...I think Hollander changed the average dosage. But give or take."

"We're producing our own mako?" Angeal said, though it wasn't a question, he simply seemed surprised.

"Oh yes," Gast continued, pausing to let out a few coughs. He cleared his throat. "I think it all might be part of the problem, though I'm not quite sure. My first reaction was mako poisoning, that perhaps you were both overproducing, but that does not seem to be the case. I tested this theory with both of your cells, and though there was some damage done with an extreme amount of the substance, high levels did not have the negative side effects I would have expected. Your bodies seem fine with the overabundance, though I would recommend that Genesis not have treatments for the time being—his levels are dangerously high."

"Wait, so couldn't you use the mako to help make them stronger, stop the degradation?" the Second questioned in interest, looking less sullen suddenly.

Genesis merely huffed, appearing less than amused. "No it won't stop it; I think that is quite obvious. Case in point: my body is overloaded with mako yet I am still ill."

The scientist shook his head at the First's overly harsh words, instead answering the question for himself. "Unfortunately the mako can only help so much. It's like steroids—there can be benefits in small amounts, but over time it will have consequences. The solution to this might be in discovering how the Jenova cells and the mako interact, to check if there might finally be some negative results because of it, something unforseen. I'm guessing this is something caused by time and age, since the onset for Genesis has been very gradual."

Zack nodded sadly, the sudden spark of hopefulness drowned out for the moment. He felt so helpless with it all. What did he know about mako and Jenova? They had to rely on Gast to figure it all out for them. They were SOLDIERs, and though they had all been enhanced with the chemical, that did not mean they knew anything about it.

He wanted to be there for Angeal, and he would try to rekindle some positivity in himself so that they all weren't so drawn into the disheartening mood that had settled over the room. Genesis seemed keen on dragging them all down further, much to the Second's annoyance.

There was a lot to think about. He could only put some hope in a scientist he barely knew, wishing that somehow it would all work out so that Angeal would be just fine. Gast was a scientist right? Couldn't he figure it out? Zack had never had much faith in the men in lab coats, but the scientist seemed to genuinely care, apparently as troubled about it as the rest of them. Gast looked exhausted, overworked, yet he still kept at it for hours on end.

Maybe there was hope. Maybe Angeal would be okay.

* * *

A/N: Expect delays (meaning if I go 4 days or something without posting, I haven't actually died or anything...). I've been fighting with myself over how to progress where I want, and I suspect I'll be doing a lot of rewrites (the next chapters will be quicker paced, FINALLY). And I still have to make some decisions about how I'm going to end all of this when we get there. Which, I think we're probably not incredibly far away. Enough of my rambling ;)


	58. Inescapable Decay

A/N: I took a few days off, for once. Anyway, we're nearing the end! And let's all laugh when I somehow stretch it out to 20 more chapters (I hope not...)! Thanks to everybody who reviewed! You are loved. That is: CaseyAnn'sPrecious, OvenBased, hrv, kiralover44, BeeJang, whatevergirl, CornCob, and KT ! I hope nothing in this chapter is contradictory with previous chapters. I honestly keep going back to check! Anyway, if there are any plotholes/inconsistencies, point them out if you have the time :)

* * *

Grimshaw was more excitable than usual. He was flitting about the examination table with a far too cheerful expression, one that others nearby almost cowered at the sight of. It was a similar look to the one he got while doing something particularly grisly that pleased his more primal instincts.

"Lovely!" the doctor exclaimed.

One of his newest projects was nearing completion. Though the hybrids he'd released onto the SOLDIER base had been ineffective (not an unexpected outcome), the entire event had been the catalyst for several new ideas that he had already begun to put into action. He was growing more subjects, and he had just finished the sequencing for another, more powerful specimen. Oh yes, things were well.

Even Evander seemed to be less unpleasant than usual, a strange smile making him appear almost childish. He was observing the doctor, running over the recent attack in his head.

There had been unexpectedly good results from it, more than he could have hoped for. And now he was waiting patiently for the doctor to tell him about some sort of side project he was working on. He did not like to remain entirely optimistic when there were several factors that could hinder their progress, however, he could not completely disregard the feelings of accomplishment he was experiencing.

They would notice him now, they would have to. Both he and Grimshaw were the best that AVALANCHE had to offer, and they had planned and executed their own operation flawlessly, without help. Grimshaw's approach had been brilliant; not only had they easily gained access to the base's computers, but they had successfully transported monsters using the SOLDIERs' own caravans!

It had been so easy to intercept and switch the cargo. And with the beasts becoming exceedingly more intelligent every generation, they had kept quiet enough to not be noticed until they were physically on the base.

Most of the supplies sent to the facility were taken by employees, truckers, not actual SOLDIERs, which AVALANCHE had not been previously aware of. With that flaw in the transportation, it would be a simple task for the creatures to kill anyone who caught onto them. So long as there was someone driving the trucks, they would get where they needed to go, likely without having to be checked at every security gate because they were in low security shipments.

SOLDIER, the supposed height of military perfection, had personnel who were too lazy to check every bit of cargo that came through. Even if they had physically opened the tailgates and looked, the beasts would have been concealed in the shipment boxes. It was a nearly foolproof way to get their own soldiers onto the base without instant detection. The future was looking a lot less formidable than it had been only days earlier.

It had all been a test, just a sample of things to come. And they had shut down power for hours.... With the computers working simultaneously, it had been an easy task to get through the bulk of the security programs. They had used the base's network against it; going from the Labs computer, straight to the main control panel without any monumental problems (though they had been denied some access, which simply meant they needed to reexamine some of their own software before implementing it again). They had even managed to get one of the Lab buildings unlocked, and instead of pursuing its mission, Fenris had returned with a sealed tube of samples stolen from Hollander's own storeroom.

Grimshaw was very excited about whatever it was that had been retrieved. He had been hesitant to send the wolf anyway, and had insisted that they wait outside of Midgar for it to return. Initially, Evander had found it to be rather ridiculous, but he had come to accept that the doctor had his...eccentricities. He himself was surprised when Fenris actually returned, smelling of smoke and carrying a large silver canister in its mouth.

The rest of their beasts had died, of course. But it was no bother. Grimshaw had already explained that the ones they had sent, though new, still had much room for improvement. With the samples, who knew what they would be able to create, perhaps some sort of super-creature that Hollander had been designing?

Grimshaw was positive he would be able to improve upon his own design using some of the samples. They seemed to be of some sort of genetic strain he was unfamiliar with (even the computer had marked it as unrecognizable), so unfortunately they would have to grow one of the things before they really had an idea of what it was. But if it had come from Hollander....

"I have decided to take another...more direct action," the doctor said conversationally, picking at some large sections of internal organs that he had flopped sloppily onto the table.

He was doing yet another internal examination. It seemed to be something he did perpetually, as he was constantly tinkering with the strains he had created.

They were greasy, tinged with that distinctive mako scent. Fenris sniffed at the air in interest, causing Grimshaw to smile underneath his mustache. He carelessly let the tubes of intestine fall off of the edge of the table, slippery and almost slimy. As though they were table scraps, Fenris was on them quickly, gluttonously tearing at the meat with a happy savagery the doctor seemed to approve of. It took up sections in its mouth, using a paw as leverage so that it could more easily get manageable pieces.

Evander waited for the man to continue, his eyes unable to leave the beast, who had begun to scarf down long sections, choking madly, wetly, in its rush.

"It involves the General Sephiroth," Grimshaw added after a moment.

The leader of the Ravens visibly scowled at the mere mention of the name, his eyes gone darker. His arms crossed over his small chest in reflex. "Right," he answered shortly.

"I'll explain it all later, but for now, just know that we may have a few more options than we originally envisioned. The Cause is not all lost, no, no. We can beat Shinra at its own game, soon enough, perhaps even by using its own pawns."

Evander raised an enquiring eyebrow at the last part, suddenly appearing more interested. "Oh really?"

* * *

It took a few days for the base to settle down again into a less anxious state.

The Thirds were still talking about what had happened, and Vincent knew that Sephiroth was stuck in meetings for that very reason, probably having to go over it again and again. He guessed that they would likely end up applying tighter security measures regardless of the cause.

It was all still somewhat of a mystery to the lower members of SOLDIER, though it was widely accepted that there may have been something wrong with the nearby plant, and some sort of electrical fire as the General had explained. But like all moments of chaos, it had passed them over for the time being. Vincent had a feeling that it was no accident, but had been unable to get any information from his mentor, even with a careful, measured approach.

Chaos had been dormant lately—that was the only word for it. It was surprising to him that the entity was suddenly so calm, as though it knew something he did not. It made him apprehensive, his stomach knotted at times, as he tried to keep himself busy and deter anymore thoughts about Sephiroth.

He knew there was something going on. The man was preoccupied, though he had been more than attentive when he needed to be. It was confusing. The boy realized he was feeling something a little too intense for his own liking. He didn't want to put a name to it, not yet anyway, though he already was well aware of the onslaught of associations that kept him from logical thought at times. Everything was linked to Sephiroth.

Thankfully he had no more time to sit around thinking as he had been lately; classes had finally recommenced, though they were slightly shorter than usual. His normal teachers were absent in some of them, presumably out around the base. That was the one aspect that made things clear to Vincent: the vigilance. There wouldn't be valuable Firsts postponing missions in order to protect the base was something _not_ wrong.

But the others seemed unconcerned, many muttering that it was just a precaution. For some reason it reminded him of the conversations he had with his mentor about doing as one wished instead of what one was ordered. It seemed as though most of the SOLDIERs were rather complacent; they didn't question. It was a frightening thought that he had been reflecting on in his free time. The most dangerous of men were not questioning what they were told. What could possibly be worse?

He missed Zack and Angeal. He kept wondering if they had found Genesis or not, and If they would all come back. Just the thought of the First was enough to distract him. He had been trying not to think about everything that the man had insinuated when he had attacked Sephiroth. The thought of them as lovers made his chest ache in a very vulnerable way he did not like. Genesis was cold, cruel even, and though he had certainly seen that side of his mentor as well, he also knew that those were not the only traits he possessed. With the First, he could only wonder. But if even Angeal had befriended the man, that said something. Once upon a time, perhaps Genesis had been a different person.

* * *

Sephiroth did not show his emotions outwardly, though he was experiencing quite a few. Even alone it felt wrong to do so; there were far too many things he was focusing on blocking out. To acknowledge anything fully would only make thought impossible all together.

He had received a very curt call from Angeal, one that did not bode well in the least. Rarely did the Commander ever sound so affected; clearly things with Genesis were not going well. The strain in his voice had suggested many things, but it was the sound of exhaustion and feigned normality that Sephiroth painfully mulled over.

In some ways he regretted not taking the mission for himself, though he knew it would be defeating to do so, as Genesis would not have tolerated his presence. Even so, he did not like to hear Angeal with weakness in his voice. It unsettled him, and it made him question his actions toward their mutual friend.

He had not handled the relationship well, he had concluded, but it was done with and there was little to worry over when he knew that no apology would ever repair things. The truth was, however, he would never apologize anyway; Genesis had known what he had gotten himself into, as Sephiroth had explained the terms none to subtly with every action. It had been more than clear.

The General shuffled several documents, almost out of restlessness. He had barely read a word of any of it. He had quite a substantial amount of disdain for his own preoccupation, already having become irritated with himself. But like all mental barriers, even his own could be broken, his thoughts wandering even when he brutally reigned them in.

Hojo. He wouldn't think of that. He refused.

He sighed loudly, silver hair coiling onto the desk at his elbow as he rested his head on one of his gloved hands. He had deeply considered calling Angeal, or even Zack for that matter, to learn more about what was going on. The Commander had given absolutely no specifics, given that they were both using company phones. There was more to it than there seemed, that much the General knew. He would also venture to guess that Angeal had made contact with the First, given the strain the man had been unable to conceal.

Though he did not like to acknowledge it, he had the very slight fear that Genesis would confess to the reasoning behind their fighting. But he warded that idea off with the knowledge that the First could be incredibly arrogant. That conceit would not allow the man to admit to something that he would consider personally degrading. Genesis had, after all, been the one hurt by it all. Even so, with circumstances as they were, it did not seem entirely unlike the First to try and convince Angeal to pick a side.

It was childish to be so consumed by such a petty thing, but it had plagued the General for the last hour. Though he mentally asserted his own innocence in the matter, part of him resorted back to examining what had occurred with Vincent, the hurt.

The same thing had been done to Genesis (perhaps even more insensitively), but his friend simply did not show it the same way. Where the boy became quiet and defensive, the First became a tyrant. There were times, however, where the man did not make a show of his feelings, which had gone on for awhile during the very start of things. It had only been when they reached a certain point, that finally Genesis had unleashed his anger.

Sephiroth finally accepted that he was not going to accomplish anything worthwhile, though it was not a gentle acquiescence. He shoved his chair back a little too forcefully, rising to his full height, only to hunch a moment later as he placed both hands on the glossed top. Like a predator, his green eyes flicked over the room, gloves creaking slightly as his fingers flexed.

He had several urges. The first was to go directly to Icicle Inn and find his two friends. The second involved something with Vincent, whether it be training or sex, he did not care. He simply wanted something uncomplicated.

What he wanted most though, he would not yield to. Not yet. But soon, very soon.

* * *

"I don't know what else I can do!" Gast shouted in exasperation, looking desperate.

Genesis had been yelling at him angrily, with the Commander coming forward to calm him, though it had absolutely no effect. The Second only stood off in the corner, concerned and himself, quite mad. The First would just not see reason; he was tearing at the scientist frequently, even more so when Gast had admitted that he did not know what they were going to do about the situation. It seemed he had discovered more undesirable variables.

"It's vicious!" the scientist added. "The aggressiveness of this degradation could take years to figure out, but I am trying to do it within a time frame of a few days. You must understand, I am not Hojo or Hollander, I studied the ancients and came to Icicle Inn to learn of the Cetra and the origins of mako. I know only a fraction of what the others did. I was just there for my knowledge on Jenova, which as we discovered, I knew nothing about, as she was not even a Cetra. I am doing all that I can, and believe me, I will do all within my power to help, but you must put some trust in me. Yelling will not solve this, or make it happen any faster."

Angeal was watching his friend with a harsh expression, but the First did no sober in the least. His face had a furious red tint to it, one that looked out of place with his almost sallow, sickly-hued skin.

"There must be a way," Genesis persisted, stalking forward with steely eyes and a set jaw. His hand had ventured to a pocket, where the bare fingers toyed with the binding on LOVELESS. "I will go elsewhere if I must, because it is becoming obvious to me that you are unwilling to go to extremes in order to cure this little problem we are having. I'd go to Hojo if the bastard was still breathing!"

"Genesis, enough," the Commander ordered, far from entertained by his friend's reckless anger. "Leave the man be. We are lucky he has even agreed to try and help us, let alone explain the cause of all of this."

"That's another thing," the First stated with a sardonic smile. "I've been curious about something, Gast." Again, he approached the scientist, sidling as though on the hunt, ignoring the sharp pain that prickled at his shoulder. His tone was unforgiving, cruel even: "What role _did_Hojo play in the project?"

It was as though the room had been frozen in time, edged with tangible apprehension in only seconds. Angeal only watched quietly, somewhat grateful the First had asked the question he himself had yet to enquire about. The Second only stared from his corner, frowning.

"I—" Gast seemed at a loss for words, taking a measured breath and blinking repeatedly, as though dazed.

The lines of his face became more pronounced as he thought it over, searching for a proper response, but he could not manage the words, only starting halfheartedly before falling into a very uncomfortable silence.

"Well?" the redhead prompted, tilting his head to the side theatrically, his smile far too certain, far too knowing.

Genesis's veil of normally healthy, shiny hair, was tainted by the errant streaks of grey running through it and the brittle dullness of each strand. It seemed to stick together in locks, though it was not greasy. He looked visibly ill, though his fury brought life to his pallid, almost greyed skin.

"Hojo was a part of the Jenova Project," Angeal started. "But you said that Project G was mainly Hollander's. So what did Hojo do?" he questioned, now equally as interested.

His voice lacked the hostility of his friend's, but it still had a sternness to it that seemed to catch Gast off guard. The Commander not only wanted to know, he felt he _needed_ to.

The scientist shook his head vehemently, eyes going anywhere but to the two SOLDIERs. "I can't...it...."

"Did Hojo have his own version of the Project?" Angeal asked quietly, his suspicions coming to the forefront.

The blunt approach seemed to have the desired effect. "Well, yes," the scientist replied hesitantly, looking very concerned suddenly.

"And?" the redhead supplied, still smiling in his mocking manner.

"They were rivals—Hollander and Hojo—but I'm sure you knew that already. It was only natural that they both have their own versions of the experiment, as they were very much against working cooperatively, even if that was what Shinra had originally intended."

"Did Hojo's attempt survive?"

"Are you kidding, Angeal?" Genesis openly laughed, all bitterness and hate. "Isn't it obvious now?"

The Commander knew it as well as his friend did, however, he wanted Gast to say it. His burning suspicions, fears, were turning out to be a reality. He could feel his skin cool with the feeling of dread that was creeping upon him in a cold, wet film.

Gast's gaze was watery as his eyes traveled between the two. "The General Sephiroth," he stated simply, appearing pained. "The process of his introduction to the cells was much more...harsh. Rather than using the diluted cells as a precaution, Hojo took it a step further."

The Commander let out a very shaky, tense breath. Sephiroth, it was Sephiroth, as he had thought.

"What do you mean?" Genesis said scathingly, a strange inflection coming into his voice.

The scientist swallowed, eyeing his glass on the table. "Hojo put Jenova's cells directly into a woman's unborn fetus. Sephiroth has Jenova _in_him, nothing second generation. We had hesitated with this approach. To add the cells to something already grown, well, that was different. Not much happened to Gillian. There was some psychosis, but it was eventually dealt with using medication. You must also remember that she wasn't injected with all that much, as it was completely experimental, and even in small amounts that cells proved to be nearly lethal. She was deathly sick for a long time, but she survived. Even with that result...well. You know Hojo."

The scientist seemed to mentally prepare himself before continuing, not making any attempt at eye contact. His gaze was distant. "Hojo guessed that putting it into something very young would alter it during its growth, mutate it, maybe for better, maybe for worse. He was right; it did change him. Sephiroth was not a normal child in any way. With proper, strict care, Hojo believed that the boy created could be a very valuable weapon. And as you know, he was, and is," Gast finished sadly, unable and unwilling to tell more. He owed that much to Sephiroth, he knew. He would only tell what was needed, and no more out of a lingering, dark guilt.

"Is he...is it possible that Sephiroth will also be inflicted with the degradation?" Angeal asked slowly, his eyes betraying his anxiety.

The Second was more than dumbfounded by what had been said, staying quiet in hopes that the scientist would continue. He was disbelieving, but yet, like his mentor had said, what point would there be in lying? It made sense too, given just how different the General was, how different all three of them were. Had Jenova drawn them all together?

"Yes, though I would think his chances would be lower. His body is more at harmony with its genetic makeup; that was one of the purposes of injecting him at such an early stage. Hojo predicted there would be fewer side effects." Gast hated the truth behind it all, that in fact, if anything, there had been _more_ side effects, such as the insanity that the General was constantly being treated for, but he would not voice such things aloud.

"Can we use him?" the redhead enquired.

"It was something I was considering," Gast responded lowly. He took a swig of honey-hued liquid, swishing it over his tongue as thoughts came to him, not at all welcome.

The day he had left. It had been such a horrible day. That Jade man, Hojo's attempt at humor. It had become clear that he was surrounded by murderers, monsters, not human beings, the two men almost equally sadistic. He could not bear to watch the tests over and over again, the poor boy looking more forlorn and listless each time. The more Jade had been around, the further Sephiroth had regressed. The more tests, the less sparkle in the young, intelligent eyes. It was like watching something slowly suffer before dying, and he had felt powerless to stop it.

But there had been one scene that stood out in his memory, one he had dreams about. He had spent time with the child, trying to show some sort of compassion in such a bleak, antiseptic environment. He had feared that someday the boy would become much like the men he himself worked alongside. That was something he had tried in vain to stop from happening, his one payment to the world: to stop the rise of another monster.

The boy had carried a bloodied head in one hand, holding it up by its lank, oily hair. It dangled in front of his vision, a gory trophy. The green eyes had watched it in fascination as it swayed, dead blood dropping wetly onto the floor from its roughly severed neck. It was a blackish red on the cheap tiles, one that the child stared at almost longingly, hardly even blinking, as though he might miss something.

Gast had been by the doorway, observing completely on accident. He had been worried by how long the boy had been gone, and had went to check on him. It concerned him that Jade seemed to disappear for hours at a time, coming back smelling of sweat with an all too animalistic gleam to his shockingly blue eyes.

The more Gast had studied Sephiroth from a far, the more it had become clear that there was more to everything than had first appeared. He had known, secretly, in the most darkest of places what was occurring, but what he had not known, was how to help or even accept what was happening. He had been weak and stupid, scared to death of what Hojo could do. That unconscious fear had kept him complacent for years, made it possible for him to ignore the vile acts he participated in. He had been so blind, so willingly.

The boy's attachment at the beginning had frightened him the most, the way he had almost clung to the newcomer, interested by everything the man had to say to him, even if it was unkind criticism. Gast had never learned where the man had originated, only that he had known Hojo for a long time and was there to teach the child the basics of combat.

Then Jade never seemed to leave. He came to the Labs more and more frequently, though they were more than out of his way. Sephiroth had become more withdrawn, barely speaking at all, when he had always been such an animated intrigued child when away from the all too scrutinizing eyes of Hojo. There had not appeared to be a subject the boy was not interested in, and when the other scientist was away, Gast had done his best to cater to the boy's expansive interests, allowing him to read what he pleased.

Then he had seen the child with the head, examining it like one would a very interesting piece of art. Even the mouth of it had been bloody, he recalled, the teeth disgustingly yellow. He had not known who the man had been, as it was no member of the Labs he recognized.

Though Sephiroth had been hesitant at first, his fingers had lightly glided over the paled, deathly skin. Then he had smiled, smiled like Gast had never seen him smile. In all the years he had tutored the child, he had never seen the boy smile so gleefully. It should have been wonderful to see the introverted boy appear happy for once, but the scientist had been sickened, his stomach sinking and his skin prickling.

He had nearly broke down and cried in that moment. But he hadn't. He had turned and walked away as though he had not witnessed it. He had walked through the halls knowing it would be for the very last time. Staying was out of the question. He could no longer continue and keep his conscience in tact. What Hojo was doing was wrong and what Jade was doing...was downright horrible.

He finally accepted in those seconds, that all of his attempts had been for nothing. The two men had overruled his efforts, and Sephiroth was, as some had claimed from the start, a child of evil.

It had been the day of absolute defeat. He had started drinking heavily not long after, retreating to Icicle Inn. He had lived every day since then, knowing one thing:

He had failed the child, failed him in every way.


	59. An Aquired Taste

A/N: My updates are taking forever, sorry about it. Better than nothing though, right? Thanks to: Marezuls, whatevergirl, Chicken Nova, BeeJang, kiralover44, KT, hrv, Sai, OvenBased, Ricoch3t, CaseyAnn'sPrecious, and tokidokilove ! Unfortunately I can't tell you what's going to happen. And OvenBased, I'm not sure how many more chapters to go. Probably around 10, but take that with a grain of salt. We all know I drag things out. XD

* * *

_There was a darkness to the room, one that had nothing to do with the lighting._

_The familiar, cold medical table was glaringly silver, winking wickedly at him under the bright lights. It knew everyone's secrets; it had been bathed in the life blood. The tiles were stained, dingy around the metal structure, the one testament that couldn't be cleaned away, even after the most vigorous or scrubbing. It had been left to rot, to sink in, far too long. Some things could not be forgotten._

_He didn't recognize the boy on the table, though something told him he should. Instead, eyes watched the subject with an observer's detachment, utterly void of any sort of emotional reactions. It was just a body, a breathing, living body, one that could have many uses. The boy's age meant that he would last longer under extreme physical strain; he could be revived more easily than someone older. That was something that made him redeemable, even if he did appear to be rather thin and weak along with other undesirable qualities._

_The small chest rose and fell, sending ribs into stark contrast. Little ridges under taut, youthful skin. Not a mark to mar the perfect surface, just an expanse of something that had likely felt no extraordinary physical trauma. The hands were soft, and he touched them intimately with his own, tracing along the smooth palms. It was something young that had probably never known a hard day in its short, meaningless life. How it sickened him. How he wanted to bring pain and torture to the innocent little boy, show him what life really was, take away the perfect little fantasy...._

_He sighed. But that would come later._

_There were noisy clangs as the man roughly sorted through the tools of the trade. His mind reeled over the options, the limitless possibilities granted to him. There was a lesson to it all, one that he had learned from the moment he had spilled another's blood...._

_Murder made him God._

_It was the ultimate form of self expression as well. How you killed someone said a lot about who you were. It could be short, to the point, direct, such as was often the result with a gun. Or it could be sadistic, drawn out. Hours and hours, stretched into days, perhaps even weeks if one knew what they were doing. There was a beauty to pain, one that few fully appreciated. No, instead murder was written off, when in truth, it was nothing short of an art. The pain was the point. It was to teach in the final useless moments. To show that life was nothing but suffering, all in vain...._

_A thought flicked across his conscience, one that made him smile, eyes growing ever darker._

_He neglected the medical tools, casting them aside loudly. Sterile alcohol dripped onto the counter, the scent strong in his nostrils. His gaze rested heavily on the boy, intrigued. The needle was withdrawn from a nearby drawer, then filled with a clear liquid from a tiny glass vial with deft hands._

_He snatched up one of the bare arms, letting the sharp, pointed metal slip into the thin skin. There was a tiny droplet of blood, as he slowly emptied the entire contents into the unwilling vein, fingers harshly gripping onto the muscled limb with a marked carelessness._

_The thought came to him that he knew exactly what it was like to be completely out of control, to be at the mercy of someone else. But for some reason that did not make sense. It was irrelevant, a fleeting memory that he kept thinking might not be his. Everything was hazy in his head, too distant to be fully understood. He pushed it aside warily. He would only focus on what he was doing; everything else was completely unimportant._

_The man adjusted the straps on the table, pulling them tighter than was truly necessary. The skin reddened instantaneously at the treatment, but he ignored it, walking back to the metal he had abandoned. The beeps of machinery were almost melodic in the silence, the accompaniment to the cold, unfeeling surroundings that permeated any mood. They were not enough, however, to cover the metallic ting of the medical tools he had chosen for the butchering._

_The boy was already beginning to rouse. His breathing was changing, not as rhythmic as it had been. The man touched a cool scalpel to the neck experimentally, his hands bare. He wanted to feel the slickness of the blood on them. The warmth. It meant 'alive'. All he could think was that he was not. It was as though feeling it near him would somehow make it alright, would make him alright._

_He was cold. Too cold to be living. But he wasn't dead, hadn't died. It was a meaningless existence just like the boy's, one where he felt nothing but blade piercing skin without absolutely no emotion attached. He wasn't sad. He wasn't happy. There was no reason to it, no redemption for the suffering. No, if he wanted to feel his own death, he had to feel it through someone else. He would feel it when he cut the boy, feel it like he himself never had the opportunity to feel it. It was the only way._

_Yet something screamed for him to stop._

_Mindlessly, he let the sharpness run over the vulnerable skin. A little telltale line appeared, crimson and oozing. The skin answered by flaring with pink then red, as though to compliment the blood. The man's breath caught in his chest when the eyes fluttered open, filled with disorientation. They were again, familiar, but he could not place them. The man did not shake his head, but his expression changed noticeably._

_The thought was unceremoniously cast aside again as he continued moving the tool in no particular pattern, as instinct dictated. Nothing could break through the heavy need he was feeling, the desire to destroy something beautiful. He cared not for whatever was attempting to stop him. He allowed the tiny blade to curve spontaneously from the base of the throat toward the sternum, messy, imperfect. The cut was superficial, but he knew it stung._

_The eyes were watery, staring up at him. Confusion. Disbelief. There was a quiet whimper through the gag in the boy's mouth. It was weak and pathetic, nearly giving the man the urge to sneer. The eyes turned pleading when he smiled slightly. The man knew if there had been nothing to bar his speech, the boy would have been begging. It was easy to keep going with such encouragement. He let it go further, that angry line. He cut it a little deeper, allowing his sadism another notch, another level of that private, all-consuming hell that felt too perfect, too scalding to be real. It felt so good to be the one doing. It felt so good it hurt, burned even._

_Another whimper. A bit of struggling against the powerful bonds._

_"Stop it," he demanded sharply, bringing the scalpel within an inch of one of the wide-open eyes without any warning. One of his hands pressed into the small chest, hard, unyielding._

_But his stomach was sick. He felt that uncomfortable feeling, the one that said he felt guilt somewhere. Guilt, one of the feelings he had worked his entire life to wipe from his consciousness. But he felt it, as sure as he felt the slight budding of elation at watching blood pool from something he had inflicted._

_He wasn't supposed to be doing this._

_Louder sound. More animal. It wasn't surprising; he had let the blade sink into the flesh, cutting through the first layer with a grotesque ease that made his breathing turn labored. Fingers pushed down, turning whitish around the metal. Groans of pain. Rolling, whites of eyes. The boy was writhing in his constraints, rebellious and frightened, a deadly combination._

_Action, reaction. Simplistic. Or it should have been, were his mind not clouding with thoughts that he couldn't explain. Nothing was making sense. There should be no guilt, no feelings of attachment._

_One of the small hands flexed, as though trying to reach out to him. But it was too well-restrained to make much movement, stuck as it was, barely moving. The muscles in the arm bunched, the innocent eyes released tears, which dropped down pale cheeks and into shining black hair._

_Muffled words through the gag were ignored even as they turned into a choked scream, the man digging the sharpness in ever deeper, reaching new depths. Skin pulled apart, gaping open, little fatty tissue, puffy and rounded like fat maggots. It should have been disgusting, would have been to anyone else._

_It was his right to do this. He was the stronger, the boy the weaker. It was only natural that one exert control over the other. It was the way of things._

_But...something was wrong. He wasn't getting the rush he had expected. Instead there was only mindless numbness, all encompassing. He couldn't feel it. He should have been infuriated, enraged, but that too evaded his consciousness. There was nothing._

_Then the name came to him from his foggy, wrecked mind: Vincent._

_He was torturing Vincent._

* * *

Sephiroth woke quietly, letting out a strangled sound through a heavy breath.

He was tangled in locks of silver hair, interlaced through his fingers and pinned beneath his half-naked body. The sheets were stifling, clinging to his salty, sweaty skin. The red wall was black in the night, almost a soothing comfort, but instead he was unsettled, roughly tearing thorough his hair as he rose to sit up. The darkness did nothing to ease the emotions that bubbled dangerously inside of him.

The sheets were bunched around his torso, veins revealed beneath his skin, pumping blood at an increased rate.

His mind had returned to him in an instant, that impenetrable cloudiness lifted fully. He knew to enough to be disgusted with himself again. He shook his head in the black, a hand traveling through his knotted hair.

Why? Why had he not known who it was? Why had he continued as he had, even when the maroon eyes had been tearful, victim eyes?

The answer was a dark one, but he did not hide it from himself.

He had murdered more than one 'victim' without thought, without remorse. Vincent, had he been a stranger, would have been no different. He was a monster in many respects, and he had never before had a problem with it. Perhaps that was mainly to due with the fact that he tried not to overanalyze it as he did everything else. It would only cause problems, after all. His profession did not leave room for any sort of doubt.

The Labs, that was where it had taken place. Thoughts of Hojo, he assumed. He had been thinking about the scientist before he's drifted off to sleep. It must have affected his dream....

He had been so disgustingly calm, even when Vincent screamed.

The phone rang, breaking through the silence, tearing it. Sephiroth did not flinch, though his eyes narrowed behind stray silver tendrils. He hadn't expected the quiet to last for long; it never did. There was always something to be done, and he was on call 24 hours a day due to the recent attack.

With a long sigh, he snatched the cell phone up, staring at the screen for a moment. It was Lazard. His fingers hesitated briefly, his expression gone stony. He flipped open the phone, his entire demeanor changing.

"Lazard," he drawled, green eyes focusing in the darkness. The cell phone glowed at his ear.

"I have something you might be interested in. It pertains to recent events. Tseng has personally requested your involvement."

Businesslike, as the Director always was. It made a slight smile grace the General's lips.

"Keep talking."

* * *

Vincent moved along the edges of the buildings, away from the droves of SOLDIERs that kept walking past. He watched them with a cool detachment, uninterested in joining them. They only gave him brief once-overs as they went by, some snickering. They all were familiar with one another, visibly comfortable, where he himself felt rigid, tense. He didn't like having to be around all of them. They kept laughing and joking with one another, roughly slapping one another on the backs and talking so loudly that it echoed at times.

His fingers had disappeared into his pocket, thumb running over the phone there. He wanted to call Zack, or even better, Sephiroth, but he wouldn't allow himself. Instead he only observed, having nothing better to do. He had already trained, having just gotten back from one of the private rooms. It wasn't the same going alone. It had been easy to become adjusted to the routine he and the Second had, and he had been looking forward to replacing the blocks of time with his mentor. With the attack, that probably wouldn't be happening for awhile, unfortunately.

He had considered asking the General about the shooting range, the one the Turks used. He wasn't entirely sure where it was, but he knew that it was something he could do alone, and he could also use the practice with Cerberus. He was hesitant to go anywhere near the Turks, however, as he knew all of them might not be as accepting as the ones he had met so far. He probably wouldn't be allowed on their range anyway, given their strong foundation in secrecy regarding their own training programs. A SOLDIER would be more than unwelcome, even with the proper arrangements.

He still couldn't quite believe how well he had done as the shooting went. It had seemed like it would be difficult, but in fact it had been so simple. If he didn't think about it, didn't concentrate, somehow it just happened. It happened because he _knew_ it had to. Life or death brought out the best in him, he had come to realize, just like back in Wutai. He didn't have to have the experience, it just came to him, and he was more than grateful.

"Vincent!"

The Third turned to look, catching a glimpse of Cloud weaving between the SOLDIERs. Some of the Third's classes had just let out, making the area crowded with loud teen boys. The guard appeared positively shrunken in comparison, lean and lanky amongst the burlier Thirds. He stood out just like Vincent did.

When the blonde neared him, he was visibly embarrassed, cheeks dusting lightly with pink. "I've been looking around for you," he breathed out in a rush.

They both seemed to reflect internally on the last time they had seen each other, not in the best of circumstances. Vincent noticed that the kid was worn down, his eyes surrounded by a vague hint of darkness, as though he had missed out on sleep.

"How are you?" Vincent asked, trying to start conversation. They were both socially awkward, he acknowledged.

"I'm...uh okay." Cloud gave a very weak smile.

"Have you been on duty at all?"

"Yeah, yesterday," the blonde responded quietly, blue eyes flicking to the passing SOLDIERs in nervousness.

There was a delay in the conversation, the Third calm, while the guard was less so. They only looked at one another for a moment. It was difficult without Zack's easygoing personality to move things along. They were both a little too introverted to move things along without lapses in speech.

"I guess they aren't going to tell us what is going on," Vincent murmured after awhile, observing the people going in and out of one of the administrative buildings.

"You think it's not what the General said?"

"I don't know. I just know that you don't put people on guard duty around the entire base unless there is a very real threat. The ranks are stretched thin as it is, with SOLDIERs still in Wutai."

Cloud nodded in agreement, though he looked as if he wanted to ask something. He stayed quiet, however.

"Are you okay?" the Third asked more seriously, betraying his worry through his voice.

The blonde frowned slightly, then muttered, "I just keep having dreams."

"I know about those," Vincent said empathetically. "They'll fade out, eventually."

"How long did it take you?" the guard questioned, a little more hopeful.

His innocence reminded the Third of his own, how difficult it had been at first. Back then he would have given anything to hear some consoling words. Sephiroth, though he had been harsh, had given him the ones he had needed at the time.

"A few weeks. They might come back now and again, but eventually you'll get knew things to dream about," he stated softly, glad that he didn't feel that familiar rush of heat move to his face.

Instead he just let his hair fall over his eyes somewhat, trying not to show his line of thought. Thankfully the blonde didn't seem to be paying too much attention, distracted by whatever was on his mind.

"Do you...know the General Sephiroth? I mean Zack...he kind of talks about it like you know him," the guard said shyly.

"He's my mentor," the Third responded quietly.

"He is?" The blonde's look was incredulous, with a hint of something else. "But I thought...he's never trained anyone before, has he?"

"Not that I know of."

"You sword fight with him?" the guard asked quickly.

Vincent nodded, smiling a little. "I know, it seems impossible. I don't know why he picked me," he admitted.

"You must be really good."

"No, just in the right place. It could have easily been someone else."

Cloud seemed to debate that answer, but took a few seconds to voice what he was thinking. "I may not know the General, but he doesn't seem like the type to choose for no reason."

The Third nearly grinned at the compliment, well aware of the mix of emotions the guard was experiencing. The blonde seemed caught between awe and jealousy, but was too kind to show it. In fact, he was almost enthusiastic.

"Is he really difficult, or does he go easy on you?"

"He pushes me more than anyone else has, but he never goes too far. He's not as cold as everybody thinks," Vincent explained revealingly, fiddling with his phone again. "He just knows, I guess. Limits, that is when it comes to fighting."

"Doesn't it make you...nervous?"

"At first. He still does sometimes, because I never know what to expect. But I think that's why the training is so effective; everything about it is spontaneous."

It was strange to think, but even with all the man's constant calculation, there was a spontaneity to many of the things he did. Or perhaps Vincent himself was just so far behind in the planning that it appeared to be impetuous. For some reason that made more sense.

"Do you think you will ever be as good?"

"Not without a miracle," Vincent responded in all seriousness.

Cloud only smiled.

* * *

Sephiroth had already donned his clothes, forcing his tired body to obey his will. He had only slept a few hours, and it was the middle of the day. Though he often went without sleep, he had been overdoing it, combining it with the constant stress for a toxic reaction. He had the dull, numb kind of feeling that came from not being entirely conscious.

He had accepted the mission. He had the option of taking someone with him, and he had considered Vincent, but in the end he knew it would be far less complicated if he went alone. He would not acknowledge the fact that there were other reasons he did not want to take the boy with him. He had more planned than just a mission from Tseng, that was if he chose to go through with it. There was still time to turn back if he felt the need.

He went to the Shinra building, toward one of the offices that the Turk had reserved for them. They still needed to talk about the details; he had only learned the bare essentials from Lazard, who he suspected knew little to nothing about it. Tseng did not often give details, too secretive to do so, though he would be forced to if he expected the General to do as he wished.

The door opened with a click, Sephiroth moving into the room with a canvas bag that he had packed with a few things he needed. He usually did not bring baggage with him because it only got in the way, but he had made an exception for once. He did not drop it to the floor, only standing stiffly by the doorway as Tseng rose from one of the high-backed leather chairs.

As always, Tseng was well-dressed, his hair in a neat ponytail. The Turk neared him with a certainty that few others possessed in his presence. It was two leaders approaching one another, neither willing to give in the slightest, though there was an underlying respect that they had for one another that few others bore witness to. It was all unspoken, yet still acknowledged.

"I'm glad you have considered this," the Turk addressed, his eyes going markedly to the bag.

He took it as a sign of faith coming from the General, something he had not expected. He, for once, was not aware that there were in fact ulterior motives.

"We shall see," the General answered flatly, unreadable.

"The information you gathered on your previous mission was quite helpful. We have since made progress in exposing AVALANCHE. There is intel that they have numbers in Wutai who were assisting in the recent uprising. I would like you to execute them. This attachment to Wutai is something the President wishes to avoid. I have made a list, with stats and suspected locations. I will be available day or night for consultation should you require it."

Straight to the point. Good. "I am certain that AVALANCHE has expanded since the uprising," Sephiroth stated dryly. "You can hardly expect to eradicate the majority of the threats."

"You are probably right about that, though the individuals you will be pursuing are ones to be concerned about. We will cut the strings of their power at their base. It will be a message."

"Why not send one of your Turks to do it?" Sephiroth enquired, placid in a way that was inhuman.

Tseng was unaffected. "I have reason to believe these men are well trained. Part of a group dubbed 'The Ravens'. You are a more suitable candidate for the mission than anyone else, and I know that you will use discretion."

It wasn't typical for Tseng to use compliments, as he was all too aware that they did not have any impact on how the General felt, in fact, the man usually took it as a sign of ill will. But he was simply stating the truth of the matter. He had heard too many accounts of how bloodthirsty the side-branch was, and he was unwilling to take chances. A lot seemed to be going wrong, so he had chosen to be cautious, which the President had surprisingly agreed to, after some convincing, of course.

Sephiroth gave a curt nod. "I can leave immediately."

"Good. I already have transportation set up for you."

Though the General did not necessarily want to return to Wutai, he was compelled to go for other reasons. There were far too many coincidences for his liking, but he was not about to question it. It made no difference anyway; he was well prepared for events to take a nasty turn. He did not see any of it coming out clean, but he was fine with that. Murder was a messy business, and even the most skilled were apt to leave wreckage behind. And if he did follow inclination, he was bound to encounter difficulties, more so than even the mission would likely include.

If anything, he needed to get back to what it was he did for a living. His mind was clouded by the constant stagnation of the base, of living a normal life.

The truth was, he had developed a taste for the chaotic, in more ways than one.

* * *

A/N: The whole dream was symbolic, just to give you a hint. Expect continual delayed updates; now I'm just plain procrastinating. But I won't take a break for fear that I'll never finish. :)


	60. Powerless

A/N: 60! Thanks to the people who reviewed. I know, I'm so boring an uncreative. You're lovely? That would be: BeeJang, kiralover44, CaseyAnn'sPrecious, hrv, is the UltimateXD, and KT ! Oh yes, KT, Chaos is coming back...he's just being an evil lurking beastie right now. He's in this chapter, somewhat.

* * *

"So are we gonna be doin' this often?" Reno asked with a suggestive grin. He only allowed himself the little show of rebellion because his back was to the General, otherwise he wouldn't have risked it.

"I doubt it," Sephiroth responded curtly, adjusting himself into the seat. He had his bag placed in the space beside him, sword laid across the top of it, so long that it also rested on his lap as well.

Everything was drowned out as the helicopter ascended, sending silver hair into a tangled flurry. He had forgotten to tuck it into his coat as he sometimes did when he knew he would be exposed to a lot of wind. It darted across his field of vision like a twisting banner, but he did not try to stop it; his mind was already starting to drift.

He hadn't even told his student he was leaving, and if he was honest with himself, he had been too preoccupied to even consider it. The boy would fair fine on his own, as he suspected there wouldn't be any attacks for awhile. He was nearly certain there would be another eventually, but not so soon. AVALANCHE would need time to prepare.

But he had other things he needed to focus on, such as where he was going to begin, for one thing. Angeal and Genesis had to be forced from his mind, somewhere else, where he couldn't continue to uselessly analyze the situation when there was nothing more to learn for the time being.

He had the list that Tseng had given him with suggested locations. There was no guarantee, however that they would be so easily found. Most of the individuals looked to be a ways from the larger SOLDIER encampments, something that would make it all a bit more trying, not that it was a problem. No, it would be much more...enjoyable without any nearby involvement or questioning.

One, Kevin Hudgens, seemed like the most ideal first target. He was thought to be somewhere in the northern area, and had been spotted by one of the Turks heading off into the forest, many miles from one of the larger SOLDIER encampments. It would be one of the rougher executions, by anyone else's standard, but Sephiroth always had a way with tracking. He wanted something away from the south as well, which made it the most desirable option.

It would take a couple of days, at least, if not longer. That could render the information on the other hits useless, but he did not much care. Information had never been difficult for him to obtain when he wanted it. Only Hojo and Jade had ever been able to keep things from him forever.

His blank gaze fixated on the rush of color from outside, as he briefly wondered if he was making a terrible mistake. It was a trap; everything screamed that to him shrilly. He knew. But he lacked the proper emotional response to care, allowing it to be overshadowed by the possibility that there was something to all of it. Truth.

He would start in the north, then descend slowly to the south. The obscure little village could wait.

* * *

Vincent did not find out directly that his mentor had left on mission.

He was in one of his more dull classes, staring in boredom at complicated battle charts that he knew firsthand were too complex to ever serve any purpose in a real fight. He barely had time to hit someone, let alone _think_ about it. All of his classes seemed to take the physicality out of it, trying to organize battle into a very neat package that he knew was impossible to achieve, except for someone like Sephiroth. No one was quick enough to put any of it to use, not really.

His pessimism was stemming from Zack's absence, he realized. He had no one to really talk to; Sephiroth wasn't exactly the conversing type. Not just that, but he felt petty when he thought about mentioning some of the things he talked about with his friend to his mentor. It was more than clear that the General already had a monumental amount of things to concentrate on as it was. He didn't need to hear a Third wondering aloud about SOLDIER.

He found himself wandering back to his old ways. Before SOLDIER he had never voiced anything to anyone, and had never felt the need to except when struck with the occasional pang of loneliness. With Zack gone, the only person was Cloud, who wasn't around much.

He berated himself for being so needy. He had always taken a little bit of pride in how easily he could stick things out on his own, but after the time that had passed he'd allowed himself to get comfortable with the idea of having friends and not being alone. Even if Sephiroth was becoming more lenient with him, he knew expecting much more would be downright stupid. They might get to the point where they weren't like strangers, but beyond that, if he was completely honest with himself, he could never see his mentor being at ease with him. It just didn't seem to be in the man's personality. That thought was very dark, bleak even.

As he was moving his set of figures into a battle position, he overheard the word 'General', which made him glance up. The hologram was bright and glaring, but his eyes went back to it to be less conspicuous; he'd only taken a quick look to see who was speaking. He didn't know the two Thirds well, only in passing, as with most of his peers. He couldn't even remember the names of the two, just vague recollections of their identities; one was a talker, probably not the best to listen to.

"You'd think they'd at least keep him around to give everyone the _feeling_ of order."

"Yeah, but if they had to send him, there's probably something going on, right?" one of the Thirds questioned, looking back over his shoulder at the other teen he was talking to.

They weren't bothering to be the least bit discrete about it, something that made Vincent frown. Several of the other boys were paying attention to the harshly whispered conversation, most not bothering to pretend otherwise.

Send him where?

"I heard he's going to Wutai," someone murmured, raising blonde eyebrows.

"How would you know?" a Third countered suspiciously. "Were _you_ there?"

"Nah, I just heard some of the Seconds talking. Somebody said they saw the General getting into one of the helicopters, you know, the ones all packed to the gullet for Wutai trips."

"That doesn't mean he's going to Wutai..." the skeptical one said with more doubt. "He's the General; I'm sure he goes lots of places we don't know about. Besides, he leaves regularly anyway. He could just be going wherever he goes."

"When the base is still on partial alert? Right, I'll believe that."

Vincent did not join in, only listening silently. The thought of everyone being gone made him slightly uneasy, and not just that, his mentor had not even bothered to tell him. It made him feel even more disregarded. Then again, why should the General answer to him anyway? He supposed he was being unreasonable, but that still didn't quell the feeling that was beginning to spread through his gut.

Chaos seemed...pleased. That was the only term Vincent could think of to describe it. Just a sudden heat to his skin, then the accompanying feeling, similar to the one he would get after he'd laughed about something. He didn't have any outward reaction, already adjusted to the bizarre changes in mood. It was unsettling, but unavoidable. He only swallowed, trying to stop from feeling it, the foreign emotions.

Why would Sephiroth be going to Wutai, if it all were in fact true? Something to do with what happened? That was his best guess; there weren't many other reasons he could come up with. Had they found someone important maybe?

The thought of Wutai made him almost ill, images of strewn bodies on muddy ground coming to the forefront. He could almost smell the blood mixed in with the water, making him salivate. He shook his head lightly, disgusted. Chaos was toying with him, he knew it, could _feel_ it. But he wouldn't let it win, especially when he was in class surrounded by other people. The last thing he needed was to start talking to himself or yelling as though he wasn't of the right mind.

He redid the configuration, switching the SOLDIERs around and changing the attack plan. It only took a few seconds of tweaking the hologram before Chaos sunk down to wherever it went, cut off from him for the most part. He was getting better at pushing the entity out of his head, he decided. It was improvement, which was good. He just had to really get himself absorbed in something and suddenly it couldn't get to him, claw at him as it sometimes did.

_Or it just got bored with you_, another part of him whispered. That thought made him frown again, eyes darkening. He preferred to believe he was learning from experience, not that Chaos was somehow manipulating him.

It didn't take long before he was thinking about Wutai again, then consequently, Sephiroth. The professor was giving another lecture, one that he was uninterested in.

It wasn't really his business, but he hated never knowing what was going on. He was always in the dark about everything, it seemed. Would he ever be trusted enough to be told? It wasn't even Shinra or SOLDIER he was thinking about, it was Sephiroth. For some reason, he had the feeling he'd have more luck getting answers asking the President himself rather than his mentor. The man was just that impossible.

Sephiroth kept many secrets, he knew. How many people had died whose last pleas had been heard by him and him alone?

If he wanted to know anything, he wasn't going to find out through the traditional way of asking, that was almost certain.

* * *

Gast had already attempted a treatment that had failed. He had used it on Angeal rather than Genesis since the former was barely even showing signs of the degradation. There had been not initial reaction or any indication of improvement at a cellular level, even after a few days' wait. It had been a disappointing result, but expected. The scientist only had a few ideas as to how to begin treating the problem.

The first had been to treat it chemically—combat it. It would more than likely mean injections regularly, if it actually had any type of effect. There was also the alternative that it might only be temporary, but allow them time to come up with something more long term. It would take months to try out several different combinations, months that they didn't have. Gast was already considering finding other scientists to get involved, but it had been a decade since he had any contact with any of them. Another point of view could prove helpful, however, the situation wasn't one that needed to be openly advertised.

Science certainly wasn't limited to Shinra, but the genetic research was, for the most part. Shinra was the most influential company on the Planet, and had bought out many of their competitors. There still were some, though. The same ones he had heard Hojo had been hosted by. He knew there would be many issues to face if an enemy of Shinra got two SOLDIERs in their hands. Not only that, but whatever services they provided would not be free, not even close. He was sure they would try to gather as much information about Genesis and Angeal as possible, to better help their own programs. They would not at all be looking out for the SOLDERs' well-being, but for their own gains, much like Hollander and Hojo had always done.

The question was who to turn to. His experience with genetics and treating disease were very much limited; it was more than clear they desperately needed another opinion. Hollander and Hojo, though they were both mad, were the two best of their field. It was going to take someone extraordinary to treat the degradation.

The more he considered it, the more obvious it became that changing the structure of the cells themselves could be the ultimate cure. That meant altering the genetics—something that sounded like science fiction. But Hojo he knew, had succeeded before with such a method. It was dangerous, it could kill them both, but it could work. The problem was that the cells were aging improperly, almost like Werner Syndrome or Cockayne Syndrome in consequence. There were, however, many other factors that he couldn't quite understand. He just wasn't knowledgeable enough in the field, unfortunately.

The chemical treatment had involved trying to rejuvenate the cells. Originally, when Genesis had first approached him with the problem, he had made the false assumption that immunostimulators would help assist the man's body in coping, but it was no infection or cancer. Every cell was at risk, not just a select few. It was in the DNA itself, constantly being replicated, resulting in early cell death.

He still couldn't understand why it had set in when it did. With something like such a damaging genetic problem, it's onset was generally immediately noticeable at birth, or sometimes it wasn't apparent until puberty. Then again, some genetic disorders were manifested what appeared to be randomly, without any obvious explanation. And there was foreign DNA involved....

Zack was visibly exhausted. His normally spiked hair was limp and greasy, hanging in his face from hours in the stifling hot room. He knew his face must have been reddish from the heat. Even his clothes felt like they had a coat of something nasty on them after being drenched with sweat then dried out somewhat. The fireplace was to blame, for the most part. That, and that there were no windows on the lower level, meaning they were constantly breathing in the same air, their body heat not helping matters any. Gast had left the door open, but it had not helped much, only filtering in more warm air from the rest of the house.

He felt powerless about everything that was happening, and watching Angeal get injected with something that could possibly kill him, had been an experience he did not want to repeat ever again. He had been clutching at his mentor's hand during it, the man not protesting from the contact as he usually did. Angeal seemed to need the reassurance for once as much as he himself did.

Genesis was quiet, but brooding. He had been the most disappointed by the result, which wasn't surprising given that his life was hinged upon it. Fortunately he was too gloomy to cause much of a problem as he had been. The First was keeping to himself, only watching with a vacant expression that occasionally became overwhelmed by rage. But he had ceased expressing it, perhaps due to the things Angeal had said. Whatever it was, Zack was glad the man was finally not at everyone's throat, even if it was all lurking beneath the calmer exterior.

They had all slept in Gast's house, well he had. Angeal and Genesis hadn't really been able to sleep with the scientist constantly monitoring them. He had crashed on the couch upstairs for about four hours, not near enough, but he hadn't slept well anyway. He figured he might as well spend the time he would have been trying to catch sleep with his mentor instead, even if it wasn't all that positive an experience.

"Are you going to contact someone else?" Genesis questioned, sounding more tired than disagreeable.

Gast was rubbing at his face blearily, glasses held haphazardly in one hand. "Yes, I'm going to have to."

Angeal only nodded, somewhat relieved by the idea. He could tell that Genesis's arm was starting to bother him even more; the man kept flinching with every movement, almost indiscernibly, but enough that the Commander noticed. It still bled somewhat, not closing up as it should have, though Gast had given him stitches. His pauldrons were still discarded, resting upstairs on one of the tables.

"When?" Zack asked worriedly. In an unconscious gesture his hand ran through his hair, flattening the unruly black mess even further.

"I'll try tonight, if I can. I'm going to have to do some digging around through my old papers and my laptop, see who I can find. It's been so long since I saw any of my colleagues. Ifalna would know, but she...." Gast gathered himself for a moment, sighing deeply.

"Ifalna?" the Second asked, never one for much tact.

"My companion, my wife. The last of the Cetra. She was the one who taught me the truth about Jenova. She knew so much, but I fear much of it was lost with her. She had many connections. I might take a look through some of her documents, see if I can find anything of use," the scientist said, rising from his battered, torn chair.

"And if we find someone who can help...what chance is there they'll be able to fix this?" Zack enquired.

"I don't know," Gast responded honestly, eyes going to the Commander, who was watching intently. "We will just have to see who I can find."

* * *

Sephiroth said nothing for much of the journey, more or less unable to anyway, given the constant thrashing sound of the wind against the helicopter.

Reno chattered incessantly, but the General ignored it for the most part, though his enhancement made the words clear even with all of the noise. Rude was silent mostly, only offering a few responses the entire time. Not that the redheaded Turk needed any answers; he seemed fine talking to no one in particular. Interestingly enough, Rude never made any move to stop his partner, allowing it for the passing hours that were quite uneventful.

Reno didn't stop talking even as they descended. It had already been established that the General was going to start to the north; he had also asked that they avoid landing at one of the temporary SOLDIER bases to avoid costly time. Instead they were in a very remote location, about three miles from where the thick forests began.

It wasn't surprising that the target had disappeared into such an area, in fact, it was very typical. He would have been avoiding heavily populated areas if he was gathering and distributing information as Tseng had said. What it also suggested was that there was another large group somewhere, one that they needed to find. The one in the mountains had clearly not been the only one. It appeared that AVALANCHE had grown as he had suspected.

The drop off was as brief as possible, something Sephiroth ensured. He wanted to get to work as quickly as he was capable. Reno had found an expansive clearing and carefully set them down, eyes scanning the horizon.

There was a mossy scent to the air, one that must have come from the nearby forest. It could almost be termed a rainforest, as the air around them was hot, humid even. It felt wet to breathe in, catching in the lungs in a way that was almost suffocating. Reno had followed the General out of the helicopter to see him off.

The Turk's gait was lazy, a saunter. He yanked at his sloppy tie, blue eyes flitting around a bit, as he then tugged at his collared shirt uncomfortably, trying in vain to keep it from his neck. He didn't like either of the confining garments, and only wore them because there happened to be an unfortunate dress code. He was also supposed to button his shirt all the way, but he never did. Tseng let it slide.

"Think it's hot enough?" he asked jokingly, raising a bright red eyebrow.

Sephiroth did not answer, meticulously absorbing his surroundings. His hair was a tangled mess in the slight breeze, twisting around his leather coat. He had his bag in his hand and his sword on his back. He was already regretting the extra luggage, but he knew he would likely need some of it.

"Thank you," the General said quietly, unblinking.

Reno only smiled, already used to the man's odd, almost rude behavior. "Sure, anytime. Bird's always running. Send us a call when you need a pickup," he replied nonchalantly, shrugging it off. "Later," he said, turning back to the helicopter.

Rude was standing by the machine, arms crossed over his chest. He gave a business-like nod, his head staying inclined for the slightest second. Sephiroth did the same, not moving from his place as he watched the two readjust themselves in their seats for wherever they were headed next. Likely one of the bases, the man reasoned.

It didn't take long for the helicopter to rise again, blades revolving quickly. If he focused, he could make out each individual blade as it circled. The down force was enough to move even his thick leather trench coat, sending it billowing. He only observed, statuesque. It kept going higher and higher, pivoting around until it was facing the opposite direction before beginning to wink out of existence.

It wasn't until the helicopter was gone that his tension eased somewhat. His shoulders loosened, feeling less like stone underneath the heavy silver pauldrons covering over them. It was good to be on his own once again. It felt _right_, it always did. It was when he was unrestrained that he was at his absolute best.

He shook his head, casting the long silver strands from his face. It was going to be difficult terrain, challenging. The trees were thick together and there was probably going to be a substantial amount of undergrowth. Running, if required, would be a task in and of itself. His boots would serve him well in such a place, but his coat might be a hindrance.

He moved silently, disliking being in the open, so exposed. His natural instinct was to find somewhere closed off, something to conceal himself in. The forest suited that purpose well—it also meant the same for any enemies. It would be easy to get shot when he was so blatantly obvious as he currently was, so he would move swiftly.

His eyes did not stop exploring the scenery, constantly checking for movement. The light wind was causing branches to sway and leaves to rustle together in the distance, distracting at times. Night was coming as well, within an hour at the maximum. The greyed skyline was already taking on pinkish hues, with hints of orange. The night would be clouded, making it even easier for his eyes to adjust to the darkness and even harder for anyone else to see without artificial means.

For once, the elements were on his side. Green was splotched everywhere, like a theme. It was in all assortments, dark and light, shadowed in some places, becoming clear and clearer the further he walked. His pace was not a regular, easy stride, but much more brisk. It would not take him terribly long to get to the edge of the forest.

The earthy smell was enticing, drawing the General forward almost on its own. He repeatedly inhaled deeper than was needed just to further assess that scent, to seal it in his memory. He enjoyed it, the way it seemed to attach itself to the insides of his mouth and throat. He felt as though he could taste it, grassy, aromatic. Intoxicating.

When he finally began advancing through the trees themselves, he calmed somewhat, knowing that with each step he was less likely to be taken by stealth. He had much more control with a smaller, more complicated area.

The sun had gone down considerably by then, as he had thought. There was even less time until darkness fell; his eyes were already beginning to become comfortable with the low light. It was soft and unobtrusive.

Without any warning, a loud ringing sounded from his pocket. It was shrill and irritating, making him flinch reflexively. His eyes searched his surroundings suspiciously for any sign of attack, ignoring the phone for a moment. The ringing was too loud not to be heard, and if anyone was nearby and had not heard the helicopter, they were now more than aware of his presence. Had he been stalking someone in a similar position, it would have been the precise time he would have struck.

He grabbed the phone roughly, somehow managing to force it open with one hand. He should have turned it off. It was just another sign that he wasn't as in the situation as he should have been. He was allowing himself to wander, when all he needed was focus. It was a good way to get killed.

"Yes," he answered curtly, stopping next to a thicker tree.

He leaned into it enough to hide himself from any onlooker, his vision never staying on one spot for long. He was more than vulnerable in his position and he did not like it. His posture had become stiff, even as he allowed his body to conform to the curvature of the tree. His pauldrons pressed painfully into the backs of his shoulders.

"We need to talk." It was Angeal's voice, strained, upset.

The tone said it all: whatever it was could not wait. The General's eyes closed for an instant. His fears seemed to have more foundation than even he had been willing to admit to himself. He could feel the onset of anxiety trying to take hold of him, gripping at his already wet skin, making him feel a cool prickling even through the terrible humidity. Fighting it off, he clenched his teeth instead, letting them grind inside his mouth, grating. His cheek caught between the sharpness, not necessarily on accident. He could taste the copper to it.

"What is it?"


	61. Searching For a Savior

A/N: Long delay, sorry. There's a longer note on my profile page, but nothing major, so you don't have to read it. Thanks to my reviewers, as always! whatevergirl, Chicken Nova, kiralover44, Answerno42., OvenBased, CornCob, and KT ! Well, there could be an Aerith, Answerno42...possibly. I just don't talk about her in this story.

* * *

Sephiroth could feel his body trying to react, coolness having descended on his skin like a frigid layer of ice.

He did not move from the tree for a long while, paying no heed to the way his back had begun to ache steadily from metal biting into it. The blood was thick in his mouth, but he kept swallowing it, allowing it to wash over his tongue where he savored it for an instant. He knew his normally white teeth were likely outlined in red; he had made quite a gash, and not at all inadvertently.

There were the sounds of bugs and even a few birds. It was almost fully dark, but the forest seemed to have come alive more than ever. He caught sight of glowing eyes, reflective like mirrors, similar to what his own must have looked like. Some were on the ground, but most were high up in the trees, watching him from a distance.

The air was still heavy with condensation, bringing moisture to his skin and dampening his hair. The lack of a sun would prevent it from getting any hotter, but it would still not cool off much regardless. It must have been at least ninety degrees, not unbearable, but definitely not comfortable with full leathers. He could feel the sweat beading, rolling down at times, though he remained completely still.

He still had not processed what he had been told. It was too sudden for him to fully comprehend it, particularly when he was already preoccupied with thoughts of other things. The reaction of shock and denial was absent; it was frightening how easily he had accepted what his friend had said. Perhaps because it added up?

It wasn't as though he hadn't realized something was wrong. He had known. Was that why it was not the surprise it should have been?

It didn't hurt like it should have, not just then. But he knew in time it would finally reach him to the furthest extent, rather in the distant way he was currently feeling it. It would be better if it did not all come on until later. It was the worst possible time for him to wallow in sorrow, if he ever did, that was.

Angeal, Genesis.... How would they be cured? Hojo was dead, he had seen to that himself in a foolish fit of revenge. He had done it because of Vincent, to atone for his own sins, in a way. Had the boy never been in the situation, Sephiroth would have gone on taking his injections from Hojo; he had no doubt about it.

He had never been overly troubled by the scientist's experiments, so long as he himself was not involved in them. It was a coldness he had developed from years in SOLDIER. He did not necessarily like it, but he had never gone to any extent to question his own intentions anyway; the scientist had been useful, so he had used him. That was the way of things. It was stupid to waste something that could be extorted.

The business about Hojo being his father still haunted him. It wasn't true, of course, but even so, it had planted something that had quickly become deeply rooted inside of him, likely because he had always despised the man above all others, more so than Jade at times. It was only natural that the idea plague him, or so he assumed.

With Hojo dead, that left Hollander. Angeal had said that the degradation involved the Director of the Science Division, but had not fully explained any of it, only saying that the man was "not really an option". That said a lot, implied things that Sephiroth did not like. Had Hollander botched some of his mako testing?

And Gast. Angeal had told him they were with Gast. He could scarcely recall the last time he had seen the man. In fact, he had not even known if he still lived at all. But that was unimportant....

If the scientist could not repair this 'degradation' as his friend had called it, that narrowed down the alternatives substantially. There were few who dabbled in mako; it was almost exclusively limited to Shinra given that they were in control of almost every reserve the Planet had. Icicle Inn, however, was a virtual mecca for anyone who studied mako, given the cold temperatures of the area were actually a direct result of the Planet attempting to revive the damage of the Northern Crater. Oddly enough, it was the most likely place that someone with vast knowledge on the subject would be located. If there were such people outside of Shinra, Gast would probably know them.

Because he did not know the particulars, it made it impossible for him to draw any answers. His mind instead came up with the more undesirable alternatives of the degradation he knew nothing about, things that were probably not even true. All that he was aware of was that it was killing both of his friends.

Gast had always been a competent scientist; he would not make a mistake about such a thing. That meant it was in fact deadly, and there was little chance that the diagnosis was wrong. Angeal had sounded convinced enough. His voice had been so consumed, _vulnerable_ in a way Sephiroth had never before born witness to. The man had never been the overtly emotional sort, even in matters that meant a lot to him.

He consciously decided to not allow himself to continually analyze it. He knew too little. He would have to wait until Angeal told him the rest before he could even begin to attempt to come up with some kind of solution, if Gast was not already working on one.

He had slipped his phone into his inner pocket, changing it to vibrate. He shouldn't have left it on at all, but if Angeal called again, he wanted to be available. He did not like being in the dark about things, but he had confidence in the Commander to tell him what was necessary as the time came. He could wait patiently, if required. That didn't mean he had to like it.

Sephiroth pushed off of the tree, cautiously taking his time, glancing around slowly. He hadn't heard anything out of the ordinary while he had been speaking with his friend, but he had been distracted enough. He could have missed something. It was stupid to allow his emotions to run away with him, but he had permitted it.

With an animalistic paranoia, he began his trek again. It only took moments before he returned to his quickened pace. He gracefully avoided the curving roots that jutted from the ground, stepping over them as soundlessly as he was able. Occasionally there was the creak of leather, but nothing too noisy as he wove between the trees that only grew thicker with time.

He was constantly searching for signs of someone walking. There was quite a bit of land to cover, but he knew that there were some beaten trails that winded through the forest, created from years of locals going to the coast on foot. Chances were, the target would stick to those as a guide. Where he was headed was very important; the coast was again, the obvious answer.

Sephiroth could have gone straight to the coast himself, but his inkling had been to check the forest. It seemed the more than likely that the target would linger for awhile. He had known he was being followed; that was stated in the report from Tseng. It would be foolish to head straight for a getaway when there was the possibility that he could get caught by doing so.

It was all conjecture, however, the General's instincts were often strangely correct. He could usually predict what people would do. The more he knew of someone, the higher the chance that he could discern their moves before they made them. It was an aspect of his skills that made him more than formidable.

He welcomed the distraction. If he spent a few useless days wandering the forest it would not matter. If anything, he needed to concentrate on something for awhile. Something told him it would not be in vain, that he would find Hudgens.

Part of him wanted to abandon everything, go to Angeal, and even Genesis. But he knew it was useless. They were more than capable of taking care of themselves. Gast was also with them, and he was certainly not the power hungry scientist that both Hollander and Hojo were. The man would try at least, give them the chance that no one else would. The difference was that Gast would _care_. Their lives would not be meaningless to him.

The scientist may not have always done the right thing, but he was not cruel. He was one of the few in his field who looked out for the people involved in experimentation. He had, after all, provided the only love Sephiroth had ever found in his short, cold childhood.

Without Gast, he might have never believed in any sort of kindness from others. He would have blocked it out entirely. It was painful to admit, but he did not fight it.

It was the truth.

* * *

_Vincent was dreaming, he knew he was._

_Everything was so real that he wanted to believe it, the way the fog swirled around him, coating the ground so thickly that the dirt was almost completely obscured. Moss and wet earth, smells that rose up from beneath him, driven up by clawed feet that tore brutally without effort, without noticing._

_It was a blur of landscape, the sharp inhalations of a deep chest. The panting, tongue hanging from his mouth, it felt right. Nothing about it was unsure, instead only backed heavily by instinct, which seemed to dictate each thing he did. The way he moved, shoulders hunched, always tensed, ready. The gait turned to a lope, one that was easy to fall into, easy to maintain. Even when it felt like he had run on forever, his body did not tire, even as plumes of steam emanated from his wet mouth. He should have been gasping._

_He knew he had been trying to get away from something, trying to flee, but none of it mattered. He had covered enough ground that whatever it was had to be gone, or so he reasoned._

_His large, furred head turned as he looked back at where he had come from, ethereal yellow eyes scanning the distance keenly. An expanse of trees, some with a reddish brown bark that appeared almost shredded. The scent of pine was very strong, causing him to snort irritably at how it burned at his sinuses._

_No one there._

_There was a hint of a growl as his attention went to what lied ahead. His ears pricked forward at the steady trickle of running water. Gruffly enquiring with his nose, he could smell it, the dirty scent of ground and rocks too long wet, swimming with slippery green algae. Thirst gnawed at the insides of his throat in that instant, beckoning him forward. Mindlessly, he let his desire lead him where it pleased. Enemies were quickly forgotten, blotted out by need._

_The tiny creek was much further away that he had ever suspected, at least a quarter of a mile. His mouth pooled with saliva at the sight of it, sticky from lack of fluids. The earth was cold under his feet as he advanced cautiously, ears rotating to the side, listening intently. The sound of the water moving over the rounded river rocks was enough to put his fears to rest. There was a peace to it, something that calmed him for reasons he did not care to think on further._

_He bent down to drink, one clawed hand bracing him as his tongue reached out tentatively to lap at the water. It was very cold, chilled in fact. Almost like freshly melted ice. It felt wonderful as he drank his fill, pink tongue darting out from between yellowed teeth._

_His elation died quickly._

_A rippled reflection appeared on the surface of the water next to him, long and silver, shining with a wicked, evil gleam. His breath caught as his eyes spun to look upward, his entire body gone rigid instinctively. The fur along his spine bristled, guard hairs standing out starkly from the rest, a dark purple that was tinged with hints of black. A low bellow of a growl came from his chest without warning, purely reflexive. Ears flattened to his head, jowls curling as they dripped with the liquid that had brought him so much pleasure only seconds before._

_The sound was cut off quickly, as Vincent realized something was terribly wrong. He seemed to know he should probably not show hostility._

_Sephiroth stood above him, standing in the center of the little creek, water sloshing around his boots as it brushed by him. His green eyes were unreadable as usual, making the beast sniff at him suspiciously, questioningly._

_"You cannot drink from this place; it is sacred," the General stated tonelessly, Masamune barely six inches from the monster's neck, floating above the ripped surface of the water._

_Vincent only glowered, eyes ablaze, defiant. He did not know who the man was, but he was uninterested in whatever he was uttering with harsh sounds. The words were familiar, he knew them, yet he did not care to acknowledge them, whatever they meant._

_"You desecrate it with your impurities. You are not good enough to drink from it."_

_The snarl came out without anymore prodding, natural, right. Vincent knew this should have been strange, but the beast in him did not like being threatened. Though it was a cautious creature, it also loathed backing down from a fight. It did not like being encroached upon. It owned the creek, not the man in black leather. The human could wait his turn, learn his place._

_Like something automated, Sephiroth was unaffected. "Leave this place now, or I will be forced to kill you."_

_This time Vincent's head snapped up from the water, teeth bared from the inflection of the voice. His long-nailed fingers retracted from the soil as he stood up aggressively, all furious eyes and fur on end. The horns that jutted from his skull only proved to make him more menacing in appearance, adding to the show of dominance as he growled at his adversary from the edge of the creek bed._

_The General did not move, unblinking, uncaring. It was the blatant disregard that caused the beast to almost hiss, coming forward boldly. His feet touched the water, but he made no indication of the coldness he felt because of it; that would be a display of weakness. The iciness gripped at his ankles, but he ignored it, filling his lungs with air, pushing his muscled, broad shoulders back to make a show his own feelings, his power._

_The sword slashed through the air, biting through it with the delicate whistling sound that only metal can create. Vincent easily cast it aside with a dangerous hand, growling again in warning. The man in front of him only smiled, the first show of emotion. Instead of happiness, it relayed a strong arrogance and distaste. It was more like a grimace or baring of teeth than a true smile._

_The sword was at rest, held just above the water. Again, fueled by instinct, Vincent lashed out, swinging at the man's vulnerable-looking neck with a merciless barbarity. The General only moved back with a quickness that was almost disorienting. He answered with his blade barely a second later, striking with grace instead of raw power. As the animal dodged it, he could not avoid the sphere of energy that burst forth from the man's unoccupied hand._

_Like a physical blow, the Galian Beast was nearly toppled, staggering through the slick rocks, only keeping balance because of his taloned feet. Vincent's chest felt as though it was alight, singed by the magic that had easily burned through the first layer of skin and fur like an acid. He let out a yelp of pain, shaking his maned head, teeth exposed. His clawed hands had clenched at his sides, eyes radiating fury and surprise._

_There was no time to think as the sword flew at him again, hitting him in the chest with a disgusting ease that came with years of experience. There should have been tremendous pain, but instead there was nothing, nothing but the blank face of the General Sephiroth and a sword that never actually touched his skin._

* * *

When he tore himself from sleep, he was confused and foggy. He blinked in the darkness, eyes focusing just barely.

He immediately knew something was off from the first second of consciousness. His chest was heaving with effort, feeling strained, as though someone were laying on top of him cutting off his oxygen.

The room was filled with the sounds of sleep, light snoring from a few, then the loud breathing of unconsciousness from the rest. He nearly screamed from the sudden, sharp pain that traced its way up his arm, squeezing, pulsing. Like a mortal wound, it made him want to writhe to negate some of the unrelenting, terrible pain. He clutched at it in the dark, fingers rubbing at it without any thought but to make it stop.

He knew he was awake, that it had only been a dream, but the pain was all too real. It felt like someone was tearing his arm off, and along with that, he couldn't breathe. He was suffocating, whimpering in little panic breaths as he tried to force unwilling lungs to expand.

He forced himself off of his bunk, rolling onto his side with more effort than he thought himself capable. His arm was unbearably pulsating, making him squinch his eyes shut, tears running down his cheeks instantaneously, escaping from behind his lids if he let up in the slightest. It was only when he looked down and examined his hand for the first time, that he realized why his arm felt like it was being broken in two.

He had claws. And fur.

* * *

Sephiroth did not have to search for his target long. His target found him instead.

Like a hive, they swarmed, coming from around the trees and some descending from the thick branches, these men clothed in black. He had sensed them before he had neared the wide, heavily trodden path, and weighed his options. It had not been sound that had alerted him to their presence, but a preternatural feeling. Eyes upon him, gazes. Human ones. There was no way he could have known it, but somehow he had.

He could have fled. Easily. But instead he had merely stood his ground, assessing the situation with a detached coolness that cared nothing for odds. He would either pursue his mission objective, or wait it out, but why wait when the enemy was right before him? He had found them, more than one, and he saw little reason to leave so soon even if they were not the men listed. The truth was, he was searching for a fight. He had come to murder, and he had little preference as to who those people would be.

The ground was torn up, worn in by many feet. The undergrowth was broken and bent to the side, from recent abuse. Hunters came through the area often, he had heard, as did fishermen heading for the coast. But these men were not fishermen, quite as death and stealthy. Sound and sight would have never given him any indication that he was not alone. They were well trained, that much was clear to him.

Trap. It had to be.

They gathered around him, swords at their backs, handguns in their holsters. The combination of modern and ancient, things that should have clashed but somehow didn't. A few even wore night vision optics. It was the same game as always, just a different time period, a new, more simple way of doing things. Perhaps that was why Sephiroth had always favored the sword; he did not like to take an easier route, he loved the primal nature of skill against skill rather than sheer luck, as often came with guns in times of war.

None made a sound from behind the black masks that concealed their faces, leaving only their eyes exposed. Dark ponytails stuck out from the backs of their heads, though there were the occasional lighter hair colors mixed in. Most were Wutai, he guessed. Their mannerisms appeared to confirm that theory, the way they moved.

One of the men came forward from the wall of opposition, his form of dress no different from the twenty others alongside him, but there was a staff strapped over his back, rather than the katana that the others had. Brown eyes peered at the General through the slit in the cloth, the tiny patch of skin that was revealed, tanned from years in the sun. There were too many clouds and far too many trees to allow much moonlight to slip beneath the heavy canopy, so he knew that most of the men were having trouble seeing him. He could use it to his advantage if needed.

"General Sephiroth," the man drawled with a heavy accent. "How kind of you to show." There was a mock bow and a smile hidden underneath black cotton. "We have been expecting you."

"So I see," he responded, unamused.

He remained impassive externally, though he was very much aware of each of the men, listening to their breathing, watching their slight movements for any hidden signs of hostility. He may have been outnumbered, but it was how he worked best.

"The information you were given was planted. One of our associates is very interested in continuing his conversation with you."

He chose bluntness over slippery words, as his mood permitted nothing else: "Why go to all the trouble? If he wishes to speak with me, there is little reason to conceal it behind such an elaborate plan. We already arranged for a meeting in the south if I chose to learn more. Your explanation is lacking," he stated finally, flatly, green eyes glinting in the darkness.

"We did not know that you would be sent—we were ordered here to eliminate the Turks," the man said slowly. "We only knew of your arrival through the grapevine, but it is not all lost." The man tilted his head slightly. "We are pleased that they chose to send you. I could not have hoped for a better stroke of luck."

The General did not make any sort of reply, nothing but a living statue. He was not at all surprised that they knew of his arrival; they could have easily seen his approach in the helicopter, as it hadn't exactly been quiet or discreet. It could also mean that they possibly had an insider, though he strongly doubted it would be either Tseng, Reno, or Rude.

The AVALANCHE member continued: "You are the one who can change the tide of this war. You alone are the one who can prevent thousands from dying. This war is not inevitable, and in fact can be stopped by destroying those in seats of power."

"This is what it is about then? Kill a few, save many," Sephiroth concluded. "I have heard such claims made before, more than I care to remember. But it makes no difference. In a few years there will be another opposition, another war. Someone will dislike you and consequently dethrone you. It _is_ inevitability."

"You killed my master, sir. You said those things then. But you said you cared for your SOLDIERs, didn't you?"

The acolyte. Sephiroth's mind quickly drew the strands into a comprehensive whole. The old wizard had died bleeding to death in the rain and filth of the mud, yet his young protégé still lived. The coincidence was enough to make a slight smile grace the General's lips. How strange that they should meet again, under such circumstances. It was not unexpected that the youth had chosen to join with AVALANCHE due to some petty desire for revenge.

"Yes, yes I did," he responded quietly, easily integrating the new information. "So why is it then that you ask for my assistance instead of killing me for doing away with your precious thousands? You do know my ways, after all." His tone was bordering on sardonic, but not quite.

"If you care for some, you are capable of caring for others."

"Is that so? You must believe it to be so bold," Sephiroth observed.

"If you will not help us to save lives, help us to save your SOLDIERs, many will die. You must take the proper steps in stopping the corporation once and for all. You are the only one in a position to do this, with the power to pull it off."

"Stop it so that you may run the Planet in Shinra's stead? What is it about that idea that sounds so repetitive? Do you not see that you continuously make the same mistakes time and time again? Do you not see that your solution is merely another problem that will have to be solved? You perpetuate what you claim to despise, and that is nothing but hypocrisy and stupidity."

"Your SOLDIERS will die. We will rage war on Shinra if we must, but it doesn't have to be that way! I don't want to kill them, not really." The acolyte's voice sounded saddened, but it did not change the bite of the General's words in the least.

"You may not wish to murder them, but I am certain your masters do. So what is it you propose? I eliminate who AVALANCHE requests and assume that my SOLDIERs will not run astray? They work for Shinra, the President, not for me. I am nothing but a representative. They will not obey me blindly as you seem so quick to assume. In case you are unaware, soldiers are not paid to think, but to do as they are instructed by the one who provides them with a paycheck and their orders."

"I think you underestimate your hold over them. I think they would stray if you asked them to. Besides, if Shinra is removed from office, they will have no choice but to follow a new master."

"And just who do you plan to insert into the President's position?" the General questioned, humoring him.

"We have someone in mind," the acolyte said mysteriously, his brown eyes not holding the older man's gaze.

"Of course."

"Listen to what my masters have to say before making your decision; I don't know specifics. They can better explain it to you."

"I am not in the listening mood, unfortunately."

"Please. You could save so many. You don't have to be the monster that everyone claims you are," the man asserted. "Listen. You would not refuse something before first learning about it, would you? And I know that you have interest in what one of ours has to say," he said more hurriedly.

"You take many risks in inviting the wolf into your den," Sephiroth stated without inflection. "Why do it?"

There was a long silence, the others only observing the exchange soundlessly. They were so still it was difficult to believe that they were truly living. Anyone else would have forgotten their presence, but Sephiroth had long been scrutinizing them through the darkness.

Finally, the acolyte spoke, almost shyly: "Because we believe—I believe—you can save the Planet from Shinra."

The General only laughed coldly, bitterly, the sound echoing all around, through the trees, wicked, inhuman. His mouth pulled into his best imitation of a smile.

"And it is that belief that makes you a fool."

* * *

A/N: That dream sequence was more hints. The one with Sephiroth from a few chapters ago expressed his issues with Vincent (the part that wants to be kind and the part that wants to corrupt the innocence), while this one reveals how Vincent wants to pursue something he can't have, or that Sephiroth won't allow. There are other meanings, of course....


End file.
